The  hand  dropped  ; — eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  further  back,  shining  through  their 
crystal  veil,  with  woman's  quenchless  love,  looked  into  his  face.  He  started  forward, 
catching  both  her  hands  in  his.  "  Mine  at  last,  Sophie  ?— God  bless  yon,  Sophie— Time 
has  gone  back,  Sophie— Sophie  Ainslio  !"  P.  :i50. 


KATE  WESTON; 


TO  WILL  AND  TO  DO 


JENNIE   DE   WITT. 


^Illustrations  65  ffitimzn,  HEnsrabtJi  fo  N.  ©rr 


NEW   YORK: 
DE    WITT    &    DAVENPORT,    PUBLISHERS, 


160  A  162  NASSAU  STREET. 


EiraciD  according  to  Act  of  CongreM,  fa  the  jaw  1851,  by 

DE    WITT    &    DAVENPORT, 
In  tht  Cl«ck'i  Office  of  the  U.  S.  Diitrict  Court,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


W.  H.  Tu»o>,  Stereotyper.        GIOKQK  RCUKU.  &  Co.,  Printers.        G.  W.  ALXXAKDKK,  Binder. 


THE    REV.    JOHN    DOW  LING,    D.D 

WHOSE    PRATERS    HATE    BEEN    THE    DEW, 
WHOSE      SMILES      THE      SUNSHINE, 

TO 

EACH    BUD    OF    INTELLECT, 

EACH    GERM    OF    HIGH    RESOLVE, 

THESE     PAGES     ARE    DEDICATED, 

BY    t    DAUGHTER'S    LOVING    HEART. 


2090465 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR  ....          7 

II.    GUARDIANS          «,.-«,'  •  •  •  •  .16 

in.    EARLY  DREAMINGS  .  .  .  .23 

IV.    THE  FISHING  PARTY  .  .  ,            .  .  .31 

V.    MILLIONAIRE  AND  BEGGAB  .  .  .  ,44 

VI.    THE   FLEDGLING  *jU  .  .  .61 

TIL    MUSIC  AND  MIRTH  .  .  «'1{S  .  .69 

VHI.  FATHER  BENSON  •  .  .  .  .84 

ix.  AUNT  BIDDY'S  VISIT        ».  -  -t          .  .97 

X.    A   GOOD   TIME          .            "  .                .                .                .                .  109 

XI.    PLEDGES    .                .-  .,                             .                .                .                .  122 

XH.    PECULIAR  DISCIPLINE         .*"»•-         .               .               .  140 

Xm.    THE   FIRST    ERROR                .          %-  ...  '            .                .                .  155 

XTV.    THE  FACE  OF  A  MAN         ..*»..  172 

XV.    WHO  OUGHT  TO  BE  HANGED          .               .               ..  '  J         .  186 

XVI.    LOOKING  THROUGH  ONE'S   OWN  GLASSES                 .               .  204 

XVH.    A  LEAF  OF  LIFE    .                .                                 ,f               .                .  216 

XVHI.    OUT   OF  THE   SNARE              .                .                .                .                .  233 

XIX.    SUCCESSFUL   DEBUT                .....  257 

XX.    POOR   CLARENCE !  .  .  .  .  .271 

XXI.    TOO  LATE                  ......  280 

XXII.    HASTE   TO   THE    WEDDING                  .                .                                 .  285 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XXIII.  THE   RAMBLE  .......      289 

XXIV.  A  NEW  PHASE   OP  TEMPTATION     .  .  . 

XXV.    AND  YET  ANOTHER  ..... 

xxvi.  A  DAY'S  WORK    ..... 

XXVH.  WAGES  AT  EVENING          .... 

XXVIII.  TIME   FLIES  .  .  ...  . 

XXIX.  THE   ELECTION       ..... 

XXX.  THE  HOUR  OP  TRIUMPH     .  .  . 

XXXI.  GRAVE   OF  AMBITION  .... 

XXXn.  KILLING  THE   FATTED   CALF 

XXXm.  FRUITS   OF   DISCIPLINE        .... 

XXXIV.  MORNING  BREAKING  .... 

XXXV.  DISCOVERIES — A   DEPARTURE  .  .  . 

XXXVI.  RETRIBUTION  ..... 

xxxvii.  THE  OUTCASTS'  BURIAL    .... 

XXXVIII.    MELODY. 


KATE    VESTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

VERY  good  humored,  very.  Not  a  wrinkle  nor  a  crinkle 
upon  the  great  benevolent  face  to  indicate  less  greatness  or 
less  benevolence  within.  Like  the  sun,  round  and  rosy,  that 
face  seemed  made  to  beam  upon  all  mankind.  So  it  was. 
Was  anybody  in  trouble  ?  Who  but  Mr.  Jeremiah  Clarence 
was  at  hand  to  help  them  out  ?  Was  anybody  poor,  neglected, 
forsaken  ?  Who  like  him  was  always  ready  with  convenient 
pocket  pieces  slipped  carelessly  into  the  hand  of  the  sufferer, 
and  what  was  better  far,  words  and  looks  of  sympathy? 
Were  any  struggling  hard  against  vice,  temptation  and  ruin  ? 
When  others  looked  harshly  upon  their  trembling  endeavors, — 
whose  hand  but  his  drew  them  gently  over  slippery  places, — 
whose  voice  so  untiringly  urged  them  back  to  forsaken  virtue 
and  neglected  good  ? 

There  was,  however,  no  peculiar  exercise  of  all  these  quali- 
ties involved  in  the  present  occupation  of  Mr.  Jeremiah,  who 
sat  very  composedly  waving  a  tremendous  red  silk  handker- 
chief, and  watching  the  progress  of  the  serving  up  of  dinner. 
This,  for  a  hungry  man,  who  had  been  gathering  corn  since 
daybreak,  was  a  some-what  trying  occupation,  when  we  take 
into  consideration  that  he  had  some  half  dozen  times  called 
out,  in  a  jocular  tone,  that  either  he  was  most  tremendously 


8  KATE    WESTOX. 

hungry,  or  that  tho  dinner  was  a  most  tremendous  while  in 
coming.  He  sat  quite  still,  however,  neither  kicking  over  his 
daughter's  workstand,  nor  thrusting  his  head  into  the  kitchen 
as  a  vent  to  his  impatience,  but  looking  out  across  the  lawn 
and  road  in  front  of  the  house,  and  surveying  with  considerable 
complacence  large  fields  spreading  away  to  the  opposite  hills, 
and  bearing  evidence  of  the  plentiful  harvest  they  had  borne 
upon  their  bosom. 

He  was  dressed  in  rough  farmer's  guise,  but  the  objects 
about  him  bore  the  marks  of  an  easy  affluence  not  uncommon 
among  well  to-do  farmers  in  almost  any  part  of  our  Union. 
The  apartment  answered  the  purpose  of  both  sitting  and  din- 
ing-room, and  was  furnished  comfortably,  with  a  well-filled 
book-case,  standing  in  a  recess,  for  the  more  profitable  dis- 
posal of  many  an  odd  hour  when  no  important  business  was 
on  hand.  The  dinner-table  was  set  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  covered  with  a  very  neat  set  of  white  ironstone  china, 
and  loaded  with  substantial  country  fare.  A  huge  piece  of 
beef  formed  the  staple  dish  of  the  repast,  flanked  by  a  fair 
sized  chunk  of  pork,  plenty  of  freshly  gathered  beans,  squash, 
cabbage,  and  other  concomitants  of  a  farmer's  fare.  On  a 
little  side  table  stood  two  large  dishes  of  newly  picked  peaches, 
and  a  pitcher  of  fresh  cream,  quietly  awaiting  their  turn  for 
stepping  into  public  favor. 

All  this  was  ready,  but  still  the  bell  had  not  yet  rung  for 
dinner,  when  the  gentleman,  losing  patience,  as  far  as  in  him 
lay,  called  out  in  a  stentorian  voice,  "  Girls,  girls !  I  shan't  get 
the  corn  in  to-day  if  you  don't  hurry  a  little.  There  now," 
added  he,  as  they  bustled  into  the  room,  "  everything 's  ready, 
what  under  the  sun  is  the  use  of  waiting  ?" 

;t  None  at  all,  father,"  answered  the  eldest,  seating  herself 
at  the  table,  "  only  Edward  wasn't  in  yet,  and  I  thought  you 
were  in  no  hurry."  Just  at  that  moment,  Mr.  Clarence,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window,  saw  a  boy  walking  by  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  road,  with  a  pail  in  his  hand,  and  a  large  roll  of 


KATE    WESTON.  9 

papers  upon  his  back.  Said  boy,  coming  directly  in  front 
of  his,  Mr.  Jeremiah's,  gate,  set  down  his  pail,  took  a  slight 
survey  of  the  premises,  and  having  satisfied  himself,  appar- 
ently, that  they  were  worth  honoring  with  his  notice,  pro- 
ceeded to  unroll  his  parcel,  and  taking  out  a  large  placard, 
seemed  casting  .about  for  a  place  to  paste  it.  Say  wnat  they 
will  of  women's  curiosity,  the  present  instance  proved  suffi- 
ciently the  inquisitiveness  of  Mr.  Clarence  above  and  beyond 
that  of  his  fairer  companions,  for  they  sat  quietly  down  to  the 
dinner-table,  wondering  "  what  that  boy  was  about,"  whereas 
that  gentleman  himself  stood  looking  earnestly  out  until  the 
boy,  having  finished  his  task,  shouldered  his  bundle,  lifted  his 
pail,  and  trudged  on,  unconscious  of  the  eyes  that  had  been 
watching  his  performance.  As  soon  as  the  lad  turned  away, 
Mr.  Jeremiah's  burly  form  passed  out  of  the  room  into  the 
hall,  and  down  the  walk  into  the  road ;  he  commenced  read- 
ing the  mammoth  placard,  which,  ran  very  much  as  follows : 

•'NOTICE. 

"  The  inhabitants  of  Laconia  and  vicinity  are  respectfully  informed  that  the  sub- 
scriber has  opened  a  Saloon,  where  the  most  critical  epicurean  taste  may  be  satisfied- 

ICB  CREAM, 
FRESH   OYSTERS. 

The  choicest  Wines,  and  the  finest  brand  of  Cigars,  always  kept  en  hand. 
N.  B. — Several  Daily  Papers  taken. 

TIMOTHY  GAMP." 

All  this  time  the  ladies  were  waiting  patiently,  discussing 
the  rival  merits  of  a  blue  and  a  pink  thibet  that  Mr.  Marks, 
the  store-keeper,  had  just  brought  from  New  York.  When 
they  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  neither  would  quite  suit, 
and,  that  in  order  to  produce  the  slightest  effect,  the  dress  to 
be  purchased  should  at  the  very  least,  be  procured  at  New- 
burgh,  which  was  only  seven  miles  away,  they  looked  around 
for  the  absent  Mr.  Clarence. 

"There,"  exclaimed  Mary,  as  she  walked  to  the  window, 
"  now  that  is  so  like  father ;  hurrying  us  all  as  though,  he 
hadn't  a  moment  to  spare,  and  then  keeping  us  waiting  for 

1* 


10  KATE    WESTOX. 

half  an  hour.  How  very  provoking !  Oh  sis,  do  look  here, 
what  father  is  doing  !" 

The  lady  stepped  to  the  window,  and  there  stood  the  tall, 
portly  form  of  her  father,  quite  nervously  pulling  off  a  tre- 
mendous sheet  of  printed  paper,  that  was  pasted  on  his  fence, 
and  looking,  for  him,  exceedingly  vexed  and  ill  humored 
withal. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ?"  exclaimed  the  eldest  from 
the  window.  "  I  should  half  think  you  had  been  advertised 
for  some  criminal  offence,  if  I  didn't  know  to  the  contrary. 
What  ruffles  you  so  dreadfully  ?" 

"  The  devil  has  come,"  exclaimed  he  fiercely,  scattering  the 
remaining  fragments  of  the  paper,  indignantly  flirting  his 
bandana,  and  shaking  himself  angrily  up  the  walk.  "The 
devil  himself,  my  dear." 

The  astonished  ladies,  not  feeling  much  enlightened  by  this 
pleasant  little  piece  of  information,  looked  inquisitively  for  an 
explanation,  which,  at  that  moment,  Mr.  Clarence  seemed  hardly 
likely  to  give.  He  seated  himself  with  such  a  flourish  of 
indignation  at  the  head  of  the  table,  that  it  was  a  full  minute 
before  he  could  recover  himself.  "Why,  Jennie,"  he  said, 
you  know  we  have  always  congratulated  ourselves  upon  hav- 
ing no  rum-holes  in  our  village.  Well,  one  is  to  be  opened 
to-morrow  —  to-morrow,  do  you  hear?"  bringing  his  tre- 
mendous fist  upon  the  table  with  a  force  that  made  the 
dishes  ring  again.  "No  little  contemptible  place  either, 
where  none  but  the  vilest  and  the  lowest  would  congregate, 
but  a  fine  handsome  saloon,  furnished  with  studied  elegance, 
supplied  every  morning  with  the  freshest  oysters,  fruit,  real 
Philadelphia  ice  cream,  &c.,  <fec., — all  to  draw  in  the  unsus- 
pecting of  every  class.  I  tell  you,  if  that  stays  here,  it  won't 
be  five  years  before  we'll  have  ruined  homes  and  broken 
hearts  lying  all  about  us ;  yes,  and  graves  too.  Graves  of  the 
noble  and  beautiful.  Oh,  the  devil  is  in  it;  I've  seen  so 
much  of  it.  He's  at  the  heart  of  the  whole  ma/ter.  He 


KATE    WESTON.  11 

edges  a  finger  into  a  good  many  pies,  but  I  protest  he  has  the 
making  of  this  one,  out  and.  out.  Just  show  me  any  one 
thing  on  the  wide  earth  that  carries  off  half  as  many  bodies 
and  souls  to  utter  wretchedness  and  eternal  ruin,  and  I'll 
believe  then  that  his  head-quarters  are  likely  enough  some- 
where else  than  in  the  porter-house  and  grog-shop.  I  say," 
cried  he,  as  he  waxed  warm  with  the  heat  of  his  subject, 
and  brought  down  his  fist  with  another  tremendous  thump 
upon  the  table,  "  I  say,  I'd  rather  have  the  plague  or 
the  cholera  here  any  day,  or  an  army  of  soldiers  to  sack 
the  village.  Bless  me,  they  wouldn't  do  one  half  the  mis- 
chief." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  opinion,  he  gave  his 
pocket-handkerchief  an  energetic  flourish,  used  it  vehemently 
about  the  region  of  the  organ  it  was  intended  to  serve, 
coughed  stentoriously,  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head, and  fell  precipitately  upon  his  dinner,  fearing  to  indulge 
himself  in  any  further  remarks,  and  leaving  the  subject  for 
his  daughters  to  resume  at  leisure. 

While  they  are  doing  so,  therefore,  we  will  leave  him  in 
order  to  take  a  glance  at  them.  The  children  had  lost  their 
mother  in  Mary's  infancy.  But  her  careful  training  had  ren- 
dered Jennie,  the  eldest  daughter,  capable. of  so  much  self- 
denial  and  womanly  management,  that  her  father  had  been 
able  to  dismiss  his  housekeeper  in  two  or  three  years  after  the 
death  of  his  wife,  leaving  Jennie  at  the  age  of  thirteen  to 
oversee  the  housekeeping.  With'  the  aid  of  an  old  and  expe- 
rienced servant  she  had  succeeded  admirably.  And  the  early 
cares  thus  laid  upon  her  had  induced  a  gentle  dignity  and 
self-control  that  held  the  impulsive  temper  of  Mary  in  check, 
and  helped  not  a  little  in  developing  the  noble  traits  of  her 
brother  Edward's  character.  Since  her  marriage,  which  had 
occurred  about  a  year  before  our  stoiy  commences,  there  had 
been  scarcely  a  day  in  which  she  had  not  stepped  over  from 
the  parsonage,  to  aid  Mary  in  the  discharge  of  duties  that  we 


12  KATE    WESTOX. 

must  acknowledge,  were  sometimes  neglected  by  the  novi- 
tiate in  housekeeping. 

Mary  was  very  small  and  delicate,  like  her  dead  mother. 
The  baby  of  the  family,  and,  like  all  other  babies,  quite  a 
spoilt  one.  Hardly  sixteen,  with  black  eyes  and  hair,  long 
eyelashes  of  the  same  color,  rosebud  mouth,  and  rosy  cheek, 
she  was  very  pretty,  for  all  the  little  defiant  pug  nose  that  was 
always  saying,  "  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  you — I  will  have  my 
own  way,  so !" — and  for  all  the  rather  low  forehead,  that  was 
pretty  often  shaded  by  a  flitting  cloud  of  anger  or  discontent. 
But  the  absent  son  was  the  gem  of  Mr.  Jeremiah's  family. 
Scarcely  a  boy  in  the  village  but  looked  on  him  as  the  model 
of  youthful  manliness.  Nor  boys  alone,  but  parents  also, 
loved  and  admired ;  a  rare  coincidence,  indeed,  when  we 
remember  the  difference  in  taste  between  men  and  women  of 
forty,  and  frolicsome  boys  of  sixteen. 

Fearless,  liberal,  warm  hearted,  frank  in  speech  and  easy  in 
manners,  Edward  was  a  universal  favorite.  Loving  his  father 
and  sisters  with  all  his  might,  it  was  not  difficult  for  him  to 
be  a  dutiful  son  and  brother,  and  being  so,  he  was  held  up 
before  the  eyes  of  all  belligerent  sons,  of  what  age  or  temper 
soever,  as  a  study  of  peculiar  excellence,  worthy  of  the  closest 
imitation. 

With  these  same  rebels  from  parental  authority  he  was  no 
less  a  favorite.  They  could  never  see  a  fault  in  the  beautiful, 
noble  face  that  had  always  that  winning  smile  beaming  upon 
them,  nor  in  the  heart  so  brimful  of  sunshine,  that  it  flashed 
like  a  charm  upon  everything,  turning  the  darkest  places 
bright  in  its  refulgent  glow. 

As  for  father  and  sisters,  their  very  life  Avas  bound  up  in 
him,  only  now  and  then  little  spoilt  Mary  would  look  vexed 
and  talk  fast  when  she  imagined  him  encroaching  upon  her 
natural,  inalienable  rights  as  sole  baby  of  the  family. 

Having  so  far  introduced  our  friends,  we  shall  listen  again 
for  a  few  minutea  to  the  conversation,  as  the  dinner  party 


KATE    WESTON.  13 

pushed  back  their  chairs  from  the  table,  and,  as  was  their 
usual  custom,  enjoyed  a  little  family  chat  among  themselves. 
Dinner  had  had  a  wonderful  effect  in  restoring  Air.  Clarence 
to  his  previous  agreeable  condition  of  mind  and  body,  for  he 
sat  with  his  chair  back  against  the  wall,  looking  very  benig- 
nantly  upon  the  round  of  beef  before  him,  towards  which 
certainly  he  had  shown  a  powerful  affection,  and  seemingly 
forgetful  of  his  former  perturbation. 

"  Father,"  said  Mary,  "  can  we  have  Jerry  to  go  to  New- 
burgh  to-morrow,  and  Teddy  to  drive  ?  We  want  to  buy  some- 
thing there ;  something  so  pretty." 

"  Edward  is  to  have  the  horse  to  morrow,  my  dear,"  said 
her  father,  smiling.  "  Don't  you  remember  he  was  to  go  to 
Ogden's  Rock  ?  I  can't  spare  the  other  at  all.  We  shall  be 
using  it.  You  shall  have  it  the  next  day,  Molly." 

"  Oh  dear !"  pouted  Mary,  deeming  it  a  proper  time  for 
asserting  her  prerogative,  "I  never  saw  anything  like  it. 
You'll  let  Edward  go  and  take  that  fine  horse  off  there  to 
Ogden's  Rock,  all  of  twelve  miles  through  the  sun.  And  I 
must  wait  and  wait ;  I  have  been  wanting  to  go  to  Newburgh 
for  a  whole  week,  and  I  think  it  is  really  too  bad." 

The  young  lady  wiped  her  eyes,  and  twisted  her  apron  into 
her  mouth,  as  though  that  afforded  some  relief  under  existing 
circumstances,  but  her  father  took  it  quietly,  asking  her  why 
she  had  not  told  him  before,  when  there  was  plenty  of 
time. 

"  Why  because," — cried  she,  "  I  thought  all  along  I  could 
have  them  any  day  I  chose,  and  now  I  can't  have  my  new 
dress  for  Sunday,  I  declare  it's  a  shame." 

"  You  can  wear  white  one  Sunday  more,  I  think,"  said  her 
sister,  "  I.  am  sure  it  isn't  worth  crying  for." 

"  No  to  be  sure  it  isn't,"  answered  her  sister,  "  but  then  I 
think  poor  Jerry's  comfort  is  worth  thinking  of,  and  I  really 
can't  see  what  notion  can  have  got  into  father's  head  to  let 
Edward  kill  him  to  morrow,  for  I'm  sure  it's  enough  to  kill 


14  KATE    WESTON. 

him  to  go  sweating  and  working  up  that  dreadful  hill.  Ned 
drives  so  awfully  too ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  think  father's  an  out- 
rageously careless  man ;  shouldn't  wonder  if  Edward  got  his 
neck  broken  some  day ;  that  I  shouldn't,  and  my  sputtering 
won't  do  any  good  then." 

This  "  sputtering,"  being  of  daily  occurrence,  and  perfectly 
understood,  excited  no  surprise,  but  her  father  merely  observed, 
"  You.  are  a  little  obstreperous,  daughter,  Edward's  the  only 
son ;  I  must  look  out  for  him  a  little." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  pouting  more  than  ever,  "  I  think,  that 
if  you  let  him  do  that,  Edward  has  little  judgment  and  you 
have  less  " — 

"Molly,  Molly,"  interrupted  her  father,  good-humoredly, 
"you  remember  what  the  sailor  said — 'A  woman's  just  like  a 
ship,  and  sometimes  she  carries  too  much  sail.'  Now,  you 
are  getting  out  a  leetle  too  much  sail ;  better  take  it  in  again, 
Molly." 

Miss  Mary  merely  mumbled  something  about  her  having  to 
wait  for  necessary  articles,  while  Edward  went  frolicking  off 
on  all  kinds  of  wild  expeditions,  but,  just  then  catching  a 
glimpse  of  her  brother's  merry  face  and  curly  head  at  the 
door,  she  forgot  altogether  what  she  had  been  talking  about, 
and  subsided  into  a  calm.  The  door  opened,  and  Edward 
burst  into  the  room,  performing  a  series  of  evolutions ;  whirli- 
gig No.  1  bringing  both  hands  into  sudden  and  dangerous 
proximity  to  Mary's  ears,  whirligig  No.  2  leaving  a  bounc- 
ing kiss  upon  Mrs.  Terrie's  cheek,  and  whirligig  No.  3  land- 
ing him  square  upon  his  seat. 

"  Why  can't  you  behave  yourself,  Ed  ?"  said  Mary,  smooth- 
ing her  hair  ;  "  you're  so  rough  there's  no  peace  with  you  in 
the  house  ;  there's  no  denying  that." 

"  Well  now,  Moll,"  laughed  her  brother,  "  my  private  opin- 
ion is,  that  women  are  always  for  war  rather  than  for  peace  ; 
so,  on  that  principle,  I  am  perfectly  reconciled  to  my  belli- 
cose disposition." 


KATE    WESTON.  15 

"  Quite  a  gallant  sentiment,"  said  his  elder  sister,  laughing. 
"  What  puts  you  in  such  glee  to-day,  Edward  ?" 

"  Oh,'  Jennie,  we  are  to  have  such  a  jolly  day  of  it  to-mor- 
row. There  are  a  dozen  of  us  going  a-fishing ;  and  I'm  to 
deliver  a. speech  at  the  Lyceum  in  the  evening,  a  grand  affair, 
no  doubt.  First-rate  horses,  first-rate  roads,  first-rate  spirits, 
first-rate  weather — nothing  under  the  sun  to  hinder  our  fun. 
Now,  Molly,  dolly,  don't  you  wish  you  were  going  along  ?  I 
see  you  are  looking  a  little  cloudy.  That's  the  reason,  I'll 
bet  a  sixpence.  Never  mind,  dearie,  I'll  get  up  another  party, 
and  take  you  soon.  Ladies  are  the  best  company  after  all. 
Heigho !  Father,  just  give  me  a  piece  of  that  meat,  will  you  ? 
I'm  desperately  hungry.  Helped  poor  old  Jake  a  full  mile 
and  a  half  with  that  basket ;  bless  me,  it's  heavy  enough  to 
break  a  fellow's  arm." 

The  family  having  chatted  as  long  as  they  thought  it  con- 
venient to  stay,  dropped  off  to  their  various  duties,  leaving 
Edward  to  discuss  eagerly,  beef,  beans,  potatoes,  &c.,  and  last, 
not  least,  the  peaches  and  cream,  upon  each  and  all  of  which 
he  regaled  himself,  and  unreservedly  pronounced'  them  good. 


16  KATE    \VESTON. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  evening  being  quite  damp  and  chilly,  Mr.  Timothy 
Gamp  was  seated  before  a  comfortable  country  fire,  alter- 
nately scratching  his  head,  and  smoking  his  cigar.  Mr.  Gamp 
having  been  left  by  his  parents  pretty  much  at  his  own  dis- 
posal, had  grown  up  with  a  strong  .predilection  for  porter- 
houses and  club-rooms,  considerably  augmented  by  continual 
indulgence  since  arriving  at  the  age  of  manhood.  He  had 
in  early  life  set  up  for  himself  with  a  capital  of  nothing  but 
unbounded  assurance,  and,  after  having  rambled  about  the 
world  in  quest  of  adventure,  had  at  length  settled  himself  to 
work,  and  had  gradually  risen  to  the  dignity  of  keeper  of  a 
free-and-easy  retreat  for  young  men,  in  Catharine  street,  New 
York. 

His  business  prospered  finely,  and  everybody  wondered 
why  he  should  have  left  his  stand  for  one  less  profitable  in 
the  village  of  Laconia.  They  knew  that  a  rival  house  had 
been  opened  opposite,  but  that  was  a  thing  that  might  be  ex- 
pected anywhere. 

The  facts  of  the  matter  were  these.  Mr.  Gamp,  while  the 
fitting  up  of  the  other  porter-house  was  in  progress,  kept  a 
vigorous  lookout  upon  the  motions  of  the  intruder.  One 
day  he  saw  the  face  of  the  proprietor  turned  inquisitively 
towards  his  window.  Nobody  knew  why,  but  that  night  he 
started  off  on  a  journey,  leaving  his  affairs  in  the  hands  of  an 
agent.  He  never  returned  again,  but  went  directly  about 
looking  for  another  situation.  He  had  been  recommended  to 
this  place  by  Mr.  Dunn,  a  wholesale  dealer  in  liquors  of  every 


KATE    WESTON.  17 

description,  who  generally  spent  the  summer  there  in  com- 
pany with  his  daughter. 

Had  it  not  been  for  an  ill-favored  squint  about  the  black 
eyes,  and  a  savage-looking  protrusion  of  the  upper  lip,  Mr. 
Gamp's  physiognomy  would  have  been  decidedly  agreeable. 
These  latter  characteristics  were  however  swallowed  up,  as  it 
were,  and  rendered  null  and  void,  by  a  certain  oiliness  of 
speech,  that  never  for  a  moment  was  forgotten,  and  that  had 
gone  further  in  his  business  than  the  pleasantest  eyes  and 
most  conciliating  mouth  in  the  world. 

He  looked  about  him  very  complacently,  quite  satisfied 
apparently  with  the  result  of  his  operations,  but  evidently  a 
little  perplexed  upon  some  subject  or  other,  which  perplexity 
induced  the  scratching  of  the  head  before  alluded  to.  He 
debated  the  matter  aloud  with  himself,  a  habit  of  his,  when 
nobody  was  by. 

"  I  wonder,  now,  whether  that  would  be  a  good  plan.  Stiff 
necked  .parson,  temperance  judge,  sanctified  elders,  and  a  host 
of  confounded  ranters  all  about  me  here.  It'll  hardly  do 
now,  I  should  judge."  The  worthy  gentleman  cocked  his 
head  upon  one  side,  and  looked  inquisitively  up  at  the  hand- 
some clock  on  the  mantel,  as  though  modestly  requesting  its 
opinion.  "It'll  hardly  do,  at  present.  I'll  wait  awhile,  till 
this  business  is  fairly  under  way,  and  then  it'll  be  an  easier 
matter.  Make  a  handsome  room  in  that  tremendous  loft,  and 
get  cards  and  dice  out  here  and  I'll  fleece  them.  O-oh, 
yes — I'll  fleece  them.  Blast  that  Schroeck,  what  on  earth 
did  he  want  to  pop  up  for,  just  as  I'd  got  my  machinery 
working  there.  It  makes  a  fellow  plaguy  uneasy  too,  the 
fancy  of  his  happening  along,  as  though  he'd  dropped  out  of 
the  clouds,  to  do  a  body  some  mischief  that  nobody  but  him's 
got  the  power  to  do."  Having  quietly  consigned  his  absent 
friend  to  perdition,  with  a  composing  squint  he  looked  again 
into  the  fire.  It  burned  cheerfully  away,  sending  a  ruddy 
glow  out  into  the  room. 


18  KATE    WESTON. 

This  room  was  the  whole  lower  half  of  what  had  been  a  good 
sized  house,  with  the  partitions  torn  away,  newly  papered, 
newly  floored,  newly  furnished.  The  large  fireplace  stood 
directly  in  the  middle  of  one  side  of  the  apartment,  flanked  on 
either  hand  by  deep  recesses,  hidden  mostly  from  view  by 
freshly  painted  lattice-work,  and  filled  with  casks  of  the  very 
best  Otard  brandy,  Holland  gin,  Scotch  whisky,  etc.,  etc.  At 
the  upper  end  stood  several  small  marble  tables,  surrounded  by 
tasteful  cottage  chairs.  One  corner  was  partitioned  off  to  serve 
as  a  passage-way  to  the  cellar  below,  where  oysters  were 
cooked,  ice-cream  frozen,  and  other  similar  operations  per- 
formed. Opposite  the  fireplace,  shelves  were  ranged  one  above 
another,  displaying  in  a  manner  that  might  have  tempted  a 
Diogenes,  decanters,  red,  white,  yellow,  sparkling  like  so  many 
gems  in  the  fire-light.  Oranges,  lemons,  peaches,  apples,  the 
finest  of  every  species,  lay  lusciously  inviting,  piled  upon  dishes 
on  the  counter.  A  few  tolerable  paintings  adorned  the  walls, 
for  the  most  part  imitations  of  Hogarth,  with  one  or  two  land- 
scapes of  doubtful  execution.  A  large,  handsome  clock  stood 
upon  the  mantel  portentously  ticking  away  the  hours,  and  on 
either  side  of  it  two  vases  filled  with  dahlias  and  artemisias. 
The  oil-cloth  upon  the  floor  was  new  and  pretty,  and  the  small 
chandelier  hanging  from  the  ceiling  lent  an  air  of  positive 
elegance  to  the  apartment.  Directly  in  front  of  the  fire-place, 
stood  a  tall  fire-screen,  upon  which  was  pasted  one  of  the 
identical  placards,  that  had  so  disturbed  the  farmer's  quiet  in 
the  morning. 

The  windows  were  all  closed  except  a  small  one  over  the 
door,  which  had  been  evidently  forgotten,  where  the  pale  moon 
glanced  down  only  to  be  mocked  by  the  rosier  glow  within. 
The  proprietor  sat  there  with  his  feet  stretched  out  before  the 
fire,  communing  silently  with  himself,  until  the  flame  gradu- 
ally died  away,  and  the  coals  lay,  slowly  fading  among 
the  ashes.  Then  he  pushed  back  the  screen,  arranged  some 
wood  upon  the  andirons,  ready  for  kindling  in  the  morn- 


KATE    WESTON.  19 

ing,  and,  after  satisfying  himself  that  there  was  no  danger  in 
leaving  the  few  dying  embers  to  smoulder  themselves  away, 
passed  out  and  locked  the  door,  leaving  the  room  bathed  in 
the  glimmering  moonlight  that  found  its  way  through  the  little 
top  window.  ***** 

Tick— tick — tick — all  dark  and  still,  save  the  flicker  of  the 
moonbeams,  and  that  measured  tread  of  Time,  stepping — 
stepping  ever  onward  to  eternity. 

A  blackened  ember  falls  now  and  then  upon  the  hearth,  as 
a  sigh  of  wind  echoes  among  the  rafters  of  the  dreary  loft 
above,  and  soughing  fitfully  down  the  great  chimney,  dies  out 
in  the  silent  room  below.  Clouds  come  marching  up  to  the 
zenith  between  the  placid  moon  and  the  uncovered  window. 
The  darkness  deepens,  and  the  stillness  grows  more  still. 

One  solitary  star  looks  down  upon  the  time-stained  roof,  and 
passes  softly  on  beneath  the  lowering  clouds.  A  fiercer  gust 
sweeps  out  the  ashes  upon  the  floor.  Another,  and  a  faint 
spark  flashes  from  their  bosom. 

Slowly  it  creeps  along  the  embers,  shooting  out  gleams  into 
the  darkness.  The  sigh  swells  into  a  howl.  The  clouds  grow 
denser,  and  look  threateningly  down. 

Still  the  great  clock  is  ticking — ticking  calm  and  undis- 
turbed. The  wind,  gathering  strength,  shrieks  fearfully  through 
the  night.  Another  gust  and  the  glowing  ember  flashes  to  a 
flame,  that  circles  lovingly  the  brand  above ;  catching  at  the 
splintered  logs,  and  spreading  slowly  from  end  to  end,  it 
lights  up  the  large  chimney,  and  sends  out  warmth  and  light 
into  the  deserted  room.  Sometimes  a  broad  tongue  of  flame 
is  driven  by  the  angry  wind  out  upon  the  hearth,  as  though 
greedy  of  a  greater  prey.  A  piece  of  burning  wood  breaks 
off,  and  falls  down  directly  between  the  irons.  Look !  a 
small,  dark  figure  flickering  in  the  blaze,  dimly  swaying  to 
and  fro, — so  uncertain  in  the  glimmer  that  it  seems  a  mist 
gathering  before  the  blaze.  But  that  dies  slowly  out,  and  the 
tiny  figure  looms  clearly  from  the  flame  behind.  With  lurid 


20  KATE    WESTON. 

eyes  peering  eagerly  out  into  the  room,  and  visage  distorted 
with  a  fiendish  leer,  it  thrusts  out  its  long  finger  towards  the 
paper  on  the  screen.  A  shadow,  like  a  flitting  cloud,  sails 
over  it,  and  passes  again  away.  The  letters  have  faded  out, 
and  upon  the  broad  white  sheet,  a  bloody  finger  traces  out 
the  words 

Enin,   Djittjj, 


A  low  sound,  like  fiendish  laughter,  quivers  through  the 
room,  as  he  stands  there  motionless,  pointing  —  pointing  stea- 
dily to  the  words  of  blood,  Ruin  —  Death  —  Hell. 

As  the  rays  stream  out"  upon  the  opposite  shelves,  other 
forms  float  upon  their  bosom,  and  gradually  taking  definite 
shapes,  whirl  in  frightful  circles  out  upon  the  hearth,  over  to 
the  marble  tables,  in  among  the  casks,  up  around  the  decanters 
sparkling  in  the  blaze.  Hush  !  was  it  the  wind  ?  A  shriek, 
grating  on  the  ear  above  the  howl  of  the  autumn  storm  with- 
out. Again  —  low  fierce,  scornful,  it  rings  out  fearfully  to  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  room.  Then  all  is  still,  but  the  beat 
of  that  fearless  pendulum,  telling  faithfully  its  tale  of  flying 
hours  and  unrepented  wrong.  Out  upon  a  stream  of  light 
a  hundred  figures  glide,  and  hover  above  a  decanter  clear  as 
crystal,  and  foaming  like  spray  upon  the  ocean. 

They  cling  upon  the  glass,  and  mutter  strange  words,  peer- 
ing earnestly  through  the  liquid,  and  twisting  in  a  thousand 
mazes  upon  the  surface.  The  calm  light  changes  to  a  lurid 
glow,  and  settles  in  a  fierce  halo  of  burning  rays  around  the 
glass.  Slowly  a  miniature  room  gleams  out  from  its  centre. 
A  table  about  which  four  noble  youths  sit,  smiling  pleasantly, 
and  sipping  cheerfully  from  foaming  goblets  before  them. 
Suddenly  one  rises  with  an  angry  flush  upon  his  face.  His 
hand  is  unsteady,  and  his  eye  gleams  wildly,  as  he  turns  has- 
tily towards  his  friend.  He  too  starts  up  suddenly,  and  a 


KATE    WESTON.  21 

dagger  flashes  to  the  light.  The  other  sinks  with  the  blood 
streaming  from  his  bosom.  A  quick  ray  falls  upon  the  face 
of  each,  as  the  aggressor  drops  upon  his  knees  beside  the 
murdered  man. 

How  very  like  they  are,  the  face  paling  in  death,  and  the 
one  bending  above  it  in  anguish  and  horror.  They  are  twin 
brothers ! 

The  wind  screams  down  the  chimney,  and  crushes  the 
flame  for  an  instant.  When  it  blazes  again,  the  vision  has 
vanished,  but  another  stream  of  light  bathes  a  goblet  that 
sends  back  rays  like  those  from  a  thousand  rubies.  A  hovel ; 
no  windows — no  doors — mud  upon  the  ground — the  storm 
beating  through  the  roof.  In  the  very  centre,  down  upon  the 
bare  ground,  two  infant  forms  lie  stiff  and  chill.  No  motion 
in  the  little  arms — no  light  in  the  eyes — no  beating  in  the 
heart.  All  still  and  cold.  A  woman,  brutal  and  hard-fea- 
tured lies  beside  them,  now  and  then  rolling  heavily  over 
and  tossing  up  her  arms.  Upon  the  ground  at  her  feet,  a 
half-drained  bottle  lies,  dearer  to  her  than  the  nurslings  at 
her  side.  Again  that  fiendish  laugh  of  derision  mingles  with 
the  howling  of  the  wind,  and  the  hovel  vanishes  suddenly  as 
it  came. 

The  bloody  glow  falls  now  upon  a  glass  cut  richly,  and 
gleaming  with  a  golden  light.  A  fine  mansion  nestling  among 
forest  trees.  A  group  gathered  on  the  porch,  the  homestead 
of  generations  gone.  A  father  erect  in  manhood,  a  mother 
beautiful  and  young,  children,  rosy,  happy,  all  about  them ; 
smiles  and  blessings,  looks  and  words  of  love. 

The  mansion  vanishes ;  the  broad  elms  disappear.  A  great 
moor,  lone  and  desolate.  The  young  mother,  beautiful  no  more, 
but  wan  and  gentle,  stands  with  hands  and  eyes  upraised 
above  the  bloated  form  of  the  waster  of  her  children's  heri- 
tage, looking  earnestly,  appealingly,  as  though  to  call  down  aid 
from  Heaven.  The  children  stand  shivering,  starving,  cling- 
ing to  her  dress,  crying  for  the  bread  that  she  cannot  get  to 


22  KATE    WESTON. 

give.    The  flame  is  again  swept  out,  and  kindling  shines  once 
more  upon  another. 

A  pile  of  straw,  and  a  man  lying  upon  it.  Hair  matted, 
eyes  red  and  glaring,  tongue  swollen  from  the  mouth,  limbs 
convulsed  with  agony.  The  fiends  leer  doAvn  upon  him,  and 
he  sees  them !  They  coil  like  serpents  in  the  air.  They 
thrust  out  tongues  of  fire,  and  writhe  in  a  thousand  frightful 
contortions  about  him.  They  hold  out  their  arms,  inviting 
him  to  their  embrace.  He  shrieks  and  starts  wildly  back,  but 
they  beckon  him  on.  Great  drops  stand  upon  his  forehead. 
lie  fights  them  fiercely  away ;  they  only  mock  his  horror. 
They  take  some  familiar  form  of  wife,  or  child,  or  mother, 
dead  long  ago  of  a  broken  heart,  and  torment  him  with  their 
cries.  They  laugh  horribly  in  his  ears.  They  clutch  at  him 
with  their  fangs.  He  shudders — shrieks — and  dies.  A  louder, 
fiercer  laugh  of  scorn  echoes  over  the  marble  tables,  among 
the  casks,  up  through  the  broad  chimney.  The  wind  whistles 
wildly  as  though  in  answer  to  the  call ;  the  flame  dies  out 
upon  the  hearth,  and  the  great  clock  is  left  to  tick  away  in 
darkness  and  alone. 


KATE   WE8T01T.  23 


CHAPTER  IH. 

"  COME  now,  Molly,"  cried  Edward  Clarence,  as  be  dashed 
in  after  his  book,  "don't  pout,  I  beg  of  you.  You  are 
mightily  afraid  of  iny  killing  the  horses,  no  doubt.  Now,  to 
"tell  the  truth,"  whispered  he,  confidentially,  "  I've  a  little  fancy 
of  my  own,  that  if  father  had  said,  '  Now,  Edward,  my  son,  I 
think  there's  danger  of  your  hurting  the  horses  to-morrow, 
you  had  better  stay  at  home,'  I  have  a  certain  little  sister  who 
would  have  laughed  very  hard  at  the  bare  supposition  of  such 
a  thing,  and  who  " — — 

"  Nonsensical  notions,  Ed,"  returned  Mary,  with  a  sly  curl 
at  the  corner  of  a  very  pouting  mouth,  "you  needn't  talk 
about  fancies;  your  fancies  are  very  ridiculous,  I  can  assure 
you,  you  silly  boy,  to  go  fancying  yourself  in  love ;  and  with 
my  pretty  Kate !" 

A  very  musical  laugh  put  to  flight  all  traces  of  the  ominous 
pout,  and  the  lips  were  just  moving  again  when  Edward 
unceremoniously  stopped  them  with  a  resonant  kiss,  and  flew 
off,  book  in  hand,  down  the  walk,  calling  out  behind  him, 
"  The  rest  another  time,  please,  sis,  I  could  not  stop  now,  I'm 
in  such  a  desperate  hurry." 

Edward  sauntered  very  leisurely  along  undei  the  trees  at 
the  roadside,  with  a  head  far  more  fully  occiipied  with  pretty 
Kate  than  he  had  at  all  suspected,  the  occu;-  ition  in  which 
he  believed  himself  engaged  being  the  repetition  •:;'  the  speci- 
men of  eloquence  he  intended  to  deliver  to  his  assembled 
audience  in  the  evening.  As  he  seldom  had  written  anything 
without  her  knowledge  since  his  first  grand  essay  upon  the 


24  KATE    WESTOX. 

"Dog,"  he  could  not  be  expected  to  deliver  an  oration  on  the 
present  important  occasion  without  her  sanction  and  approval. 
So,  although  he  had  secret  misgivings  about  the  propriety  of 
such  a  proceeding  now  that  his  saucy  sister  was  beginning 
to  imagine  such  silly  things  of  him,  he  was  just  running  down 
to  Mr.  Weston's  before  dinner,  to  rehearse  his  piece,  and  see 
what  she  wrould  think  of  it. 

When  he  reached  the  door  it  was  standing  open,  so  he 
walked  right  in,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  cosy  sitting- 
room.  Kate  herself  opened  it,  looking  fresh  as  any  rosebud, 
and  not  a  little  surprised  at  seeing  him  at  such  an  unusual 
hour.  A  mild,  pleasant-looking  lady  in  a  Quaker  dress  and 
cap  looked  over  her  spectacles,  smiling  very  -  benevolently, 
and  saying,  "  Well,  how  does  thee  do,  Edward  ?  Going  a 
pleasuring,  eh  ?  I'm  very  glad  it  is  such  a  fine  day,  my 
boy." 

"  Are  there  a  great  many  of  you  going,  Ed  ?"  said  Kate. 
"I  thought  it  was  this  morning  you  started." 

"  No,  not  till  afternoon ;  too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  good 
for  nothing,  you  know.  We  are  to  have  a  meeting  of  the 
Lyceum,  too,  this  evening,  and  a  speech ;  and  what  do  you 
think,  Kate,  although  Ned  Waters  and  Jim  Reid  are  to  be 
there,  I  was  chosen  to  deliver  the  speech." 

The  young  girl's  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure;  and  her 
mother,  looking  quietly  up  from  her  sewing,  said,  "Well, 
now  I  don't  think  that  is  strange  at  all.  Thou  wouldst  beat 
those  college  chaps  in  a  turn  at  almost  anything,  Edward. 
They  pass  very  well,  but  they  haven't  the  real  genius  in  them  ; 
now  thee  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"But  the  question  is,"  answered  Edward,  "have  I  the 
genius?  Sometimes  I  really  think  I  have  a  little  of  it,  but  I 
have  to  labor  so  long  before  I  bring  anything  I  write  at  all  up 
to  my  idea  of  the  thing,  that's  all.  Genius  should  come  of 
itself,  Auntie." 

Mrs.   Wcpton   shook    her   head   very   decidedly.      "You 


KATE    WESTON.  25 

haven't  learned  the  road  to  fame  yet,  my  boy.  Labor  is  the 
lever  that  moves  everything — hearts,  bodies,  and  souls. 
Nothing  done  without  labor.  A  great  many  have  talents,  but 
it  isn't  every  one  that  knows  how  to  work  them.  Toil  away, 
don't  get  any  of  these  foolish  notions  into  your  head,  and 
we'll  all  be  very  proud  of  you  some  day.  Do  you  hear 
that?  Kate  often  wishes  that  you  were  studying  law,  so 
that " 

"  O  mother,"  interrupted  Kate,  blushing,  "  why  do  you  tell 
over  my  silly  speeches?  I'm  sure  they  are  not  worth  repeat- 
ing, do  you  think  so,  Edward?"  She  looked  up  into  his  face 
to  recover  herself,  for  she  knew  she  was  blushing,  and  so 
blushed  the  more ;  but  he  was  looking  such  an  evident  con- 
tradiction to  her  words,  that,  although  trying  to  look 
extremely  self-possessed,  she  felt  more  embarrassed  than  ever. 
Her  mother,  glancing  over  her  spectacles,  was  conscious  of  a 
new  idea  suddenly  flashing  across  her  mind.  Something 
quite  foreign  to  the  easy  intercourse  of  childhood,  certainly 
glimmered,  for  a  moment,  in  Edward's  glance,  -and  Kate's 
unmanageable  blush.  She,  however,  resumed  her  work  as 
placidly  as  ever,  with  just  the  slightest  smile  playing  about 
her  face,  while  Edward  held  out  his  manuscript,  saying — 

"Come  Kate,  you  know  I  want  to  rehearse  my  piece, 
and  hear  some  critic's  opinion  before  I  trust  myself  in 
public ;  let's  go  out  to  the  grove,  and  you  shall  be  corrector 
general."  • 

Kate  ran  for  her  sun-bonnet,  and  they  walked  away  to- 
gether, Mrs.  Weston  looking  after  them  as  they  disappeared, 
with  a  look  of  peculiar  earnestness,  and  quite  a  naughty  con- 
fusion of  fancies  running  through  her  brain.  Kate  spent  a 
great  many  cheerful  hours  in  the  grove,  to  which  they  were 
hastening.  Study,  sewing,  reading,  were  all  more  vigorously 
carried  on  out  beneath  the  green  trees,  where  the  sun  shone, 
and  the  birds  were  singing.  Her  favorite  seat,  was  upon 
the  borders  of  a  little  stream  that  came  jumping  along  over 

2 


26  KATE    WESTON. 

a  brown  rock,  forming  a  miniature  waterfall.  Here  the  trees 
cast  a  pleasant  shadow,  and  the  birds  and  water  sang  cheer- 
ful songs  together. 

The  young  girl  sat  down  upon  a  rustic  bench  by  the  water, 
while  Edward  stood  at  a  short  distance  and  went  through  his 
speech  with  as  much  earnestness  and  spirit  as  though  he  had 
been  addressing  a  numerous  audience.  It  was  quite  a  matter 
of  course  to  them.  He  had  rehearsed  to  Kate  for  years,  ever 
since  he  began  to  rehearse  at  all,  and  she  always  listened  and 
criticised  as  naturally  as  his  sister  would  have  marked  his  col- 
lars, or  darned  his  stockings. 

She  sometimes  found  a  little  fault,  but  on  the  present  occa- 
sion she  had  nothing  but  applause  to  give.  Indeed,  the  piece 
would  have  been  to  other  ears  than  Kate's  a  perfect  little  gem 
of  eloquence.  Terse,  vigorous,  and  earnest,  it  bore  the  evi- 
dence of  no  common  talent,  while  the  energetic  address  of 
the  speaker  lent  an  additional  charm  to  the  well-written  pro- 
duction. 

"  Well,  Edward,  if  you  were  a  lawyer,  you  would  make  a 
judge  some  day,"  said  Kate,  as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  "  You 
may  be  President  yet,  who  knows  ?" 

It  was  said  quite  in  earnest,  as  her  companion  knew  by  the 
serious  look  of  the  great  blue  eyes,  but  he  didn't  deny  it. 
He  gazed  at  her  for  a  full  minute  as  she  sat  there  so  calmly 
looking  into  the  water,  then  looked  into  it  too,  with  a  thought- 
ful, absent  look  that  told  he  was  not  thinking  of  it  at 
all. 

"  AM)  at  are  you  thinking  about  ?"  said  she,  suddenly  turn- 
ing towards  him. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  answered  he,  musingly,  "  who  I  should 
have  to  rehearse  to  then.  It  would  be  very  undignified  for  a 
President  to  rehearse  at  all,  unless  it  was  to  somebody 
that" 

"  What  a  comical  idea,"  laughed  Kate,  with  a  quizzical 
smile.  "  Maybe  you  won't  be  President,  after  all !  only  sec- 


KATE    WESTON.  27 

retary  of  state,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Wouldn't  that 
satisfy  yoiv?" 

Edward  didn't  answer  her  again,  nor  pay  any  attention  to 
her  bantering,  but  peered  into  the  water  as  before.  "  See 
here,  Kate,"  said  he,  at  length,  drawing  her  gently  over  until 
they  could  see  their  faces  in  the  water,  "  don't  you  think  we 
make  a  pretty  couple  ?" 

His  companion  drew  back  while  the  tell-tale  blood  rushed 
to  her  face,  belying  her  careless  tone.  "  To  be  sure  I  do ;  you 
know  I  always  had  a  pretty  good  share  of  vanity  on  my  own 
account,  and  as  for  you,  why,  I  consider  you  tolerably  good- 
looking  ;  I  believe  other  people  do,  don't  they  ?" 

Edward  did  not  seem  to  fall  in  with  her  jesting  humor,  nor 
indeed  to  notice  it  at  all,  but  that  might  have  been  only  pre- 
tence. "  No,  but  really  now,  Kate,  I  have  been  thinking  that 
I  love  you  more  than  I  love  anybody  else  in  the  world,  and 
if  I  should  ever  be  anything  or  anybody,  it  would  be  nothing 
at  all  if  you  didn't  talk  to  me,  and  encourage  me  as  you  do 
now.  And  all  honor  and  pleasure  and  wealth  would  do  me 
no  good  unless  I  could  make  you  happy.  Why,  I  am  sure 
we  love  each  other  more  than  everybody  else,  why  not 
always,  Kate  ?" 

This  was  said  so  seriously  that  there  was  no  laughing  it 
off.  Kate's  heart  fluttered  very  much,  and  she  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  water.  "  How  can  you  talk  so,  Edward,  when 
here  we  are  nothing  more  than  a  couple  of  children  ?  I  really 
wonder  that  such  a  thing  should  enter  your  head.  Three  or 
four  years  hence  it  would  be  more  reasonable,  but  now  " 

She  stopped  because  she  could  not  get  any  further.  Ed- 
ward read  something  very  pleasant  in  the  downcast  eye  and 
failing  breath,  more  pleasant,  perhaps,  than  anything  she 
could  have  said. 

"  To  be  sure,  Katie  dear,  we  are  young ;  you  are  not  quite 
sixteen,  but  I  am  twenty,  although  I  look  so  boyish,  and  I 


28  KATE    WESTON. 

don't  expect  we  are  to  run  away  or  anything  of  that  sort,  but 
if  we  do  love  one  another,  we  might  as  well  find  it  out  now 
as  ever.  'Tisn't  like  two  meeting  one  another  that  haven't 
grown  up  together,  and  played  together,  and  studied  together 
all  their  lives.  'Tisn't  falling  in  love  at  all.  We've  been  in 
love  always,  and  I  think  it's  high  time  we  found  it  out.  Now, 
I  know  you  love  me,  Katie  dear;  just  please  say  so,  and  I'll 
make  a  lawyer,  or  President,  or  anything  you  choose." 

Now  Edward  had  informed  her  of  the  same  fact  a  hundred 
times  before,  but  not  in  just  the  same  way,  and  he  almost 
always  called  her  "  Katie  dear,"  but  somehow  it  sounded  so 
different  now.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  wouldn't 
come.  She  felt  very  happy,  but  for  all  that,  poor,  silly  little 
Kate !  she  finally  laid  her  forehead  on  Edward's  shoulder, 
and  sobbed  as  though  she  were  hopelessly  wretched. 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Weston  had  been  sitting,  revolving  a 
great  many  schemes,  very  agreeable  ones,  apparently,  judging 
by  the  peculiarly  benignant  smile  that  every  little  while  glowed 
over  her  placid  brow,  and  played  about  her  mouth.  When  Mr. 
Weston  entered,  and,  as  he  had  always  done  from  the  day 
they  were  married,  gently  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  forehead, 
she  looked  so  particularly  pleased  that  he  said, ""  Prithee, 
what  has  happened,  Rachel  1  Thou  hast  some  cause  for 
rejoicing,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  ;  "  perhaps  so ;  wait  a  bit  and 
I  will  tell  thee." 

Uncle  Weston,  as  the  whole  village  called  him,  was  a 
Quaker  of  the  first  water.  Nothing  had  ever  been  known  to 
provoke  him  to  anger.  Taking  ever  his  Redeemer  as  his 
pattern,  he  strove  with  every  power  of  his  soul  to  walk  in  His 
footsteps.  Always  opposing  the  wrong,  always  upholding  the 
right ;  firmly,  steadily,  with  a  judgment  that  seldom  erred,  he 
was  regarded  by  his  neighbors  as  a  sort  of  oracle  to  be  con- 
sulted in  doubtful  cases.  Many  a  quarrel  that  would  have 


KATE   WESTON. 

made  the  lawyers  chuckle,  and  impoverished  the  clients,  had 
been  settled  by  him,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  parties 
therein  concerned. 

As  Edward  and  Kate  came  sauntering  up  the  path,  Mrs. 
Weston  pointed  significantly  towards  them,  saying,  "  There's 
not  an  ill-looking  pair ;  Josiah,  dost  thou  think  it  ?" 

Her  husband  turned  towards  the  window  and  watched  them 
for  an  instant,  then  turned  about,  and  looked  with  a  curious, 
half  laughing  expression  into  his  wife's  face. 

"And  what  then,  Rachel  ?" 

"  Why,  doesn't  thee  see  they  can't  always  be  children  ?" 
said  she.  "  See  how  tall  they  are." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?"  in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

"Now  Josiah,"  answered  his  wife,  a  little  piqued  at  his 
quizzical  manner,  "  thee  needn't  pretend  not  to  know  what  I 
mean.  Thee  knows  they  can't  go  on  so  much  longer.  It'll 
either  have  to  stop,  or  else" — She  turned  her  mild  eyes  full 
upon  him  with  a  happy  smile  that  spoke  her  meaning  very, 
decisively,  and  he  answered  accordingly. 

"  Rachel,  my  dear,  thou  art  certainly  beside  thyself.  Surely 
thou  wouldst  not  think  of  marrying  our  Kate  already." 

"  Not  of  marrying  her  already,"  said  Mrs.  Weston ;  "  but 
thee  knows  it  takes  sometime  to  think  beforehand  of  such  a 
thing  as  that.  Now  say,  wouldn't  it  suit  thee  better  to  have 
Edward  Clarence  for  a  son-in-law  than  any  young  man  in  our 
village  ?" 

"  It  would,  certainly ;  Heaven  bless  the  children,"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  something  veiy  like  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye  as  he 
watched  them  coming  up  the  walk.  "  But,  Rachel,  how  silly 
we  are ; — such  mere  babies — half  a  dozen  years  hence  is  time 
enough  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  Pooh,  pooh !  how  ridicu- 
lous." 

"  Does  thee  know  how  old  they  are  now,  Josiah  ?"  said  his 
wife,  laying  her  hand,  on  his  arm. 

"  Why,  I  believe  Edward's  nineteen  or  twenty,  but  Kate's 


30  KATE    WESTON. 

only  fifteen,  and  they've  never  done  anything  but  read  story- 
books and  play  baby-house.  No  such  whim  ever  troubles 
them,  I'll  warrant  me." 

"  Don't  thee  believe  it ;"  answered  the  lady.  "  And  what 
canst  thou  mean  by  saying  that,  when  Edward  is  nearly 
through  his  profession,  and  Kate  is  such  a  capital  little  house- 
keeper 2" 

"  Oh  well,"  answered  her  husband,  "  it's  just  because  she 
has  played  baby-house  so  much  that  she  is  something  of  a 
housekeeper.  Oh,  they're  too  young,  don't  speak  of  it  again 
Rachel,  for  the  credit  of  thy  wisdom." 

"  Thou  wilt  find  that  housekeeping  is  a  very  essential 
acquirement,  in  consideration  of  the  matter  of  which  we  were 
speaking.  But  Josiah,"  said  his  wife  softly,  fixing  her  clear, 
loving  eyes  upon  his  face,  "  dost  thou  remember  just  how  old 
thou  wast  when  thou  put  the  ring  upon  my  finger,  and  I  pro- 
mised thee  never  to  remove  it  till  we  had  joined  heart  and 
hand  irrevocably  for  life.  I  have  been  thinking  since  they 
went  out  of  that  moonlight  night  of  thy  eighteenth  birth- 
day, when  we  wept  so  bitterly  at  parting,  and  promised  never 
to  marry  until  thou  shouldst  come  back  with  enough  to  buy 
a  little  place,  and  take  me  for  thy  own  true  wife.  I  don't 
think  that  we  have  ever  repented  that  we  plighted  our  faith 
so  young,  and  I  don't  think  thou  shouldst  complain  if  they 
go  and  do  likewise." 

This  last  argument  being  a  decided  clincher,  Mr.  Weston 
deemed  it  prudent  to  content  himself  with  looking  affection- 
ately upon  his  wife,  and  humming  a  tune  in  an  uncler-tone  to 
himself,  while  Mrs.  Weston  went  back  to  her  chair,  laid  away 
her  work,  and  passed  out  to  see  about  the  preparation  of 
dinner 


KATE   WESTON.  31 


CHAPTER"  IV. 

THE  afternoon  was  as  pleasant  as  all  parties  had  expected. 
At  one  o'clock  a  merry  party  started  from  the  village  in  a 
four-horse  wagon  of  very  accomodating  dimensions.  The 
vehicle  in  question  contained  some  twelve  young  men,  most 
of  them  at  that  doubtful  age  that  feels  mightily  insulted  at 
the  expression  of  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  the  question  of  their 
manhood.  Two  or  three,  however,  had  evidently  a  right  to 
turn  up  their  noses  at  the  rest,  bestowing  upon  them  the 
euphonious  appellation  of  "snobs,"  which  they  accordingly 
did  upon  every  convenient  opportunity. 

These  gentlemen,  having  arrived  at  the  age  of  two  or  three 
and  twenty,  and  being  students  at  a  neighboring  college, 
were  usually  looked  up  to  as  standard  authorities  on  a  great 
many  doubtful  questions,  such  as  the  most  approved  method 
of  wearing  a  cravat,  the  most  graceful  tip  of  the  hat  or  swing 
of  the  cane,  the  most  genteel  manner  of  cultivating  a  mous- 
tache, and  numberless  other  important  matters,  that  they  con- 
sidered pertaining  peculiarly  to  the  station  of  sophomore  or 
junior  in  an  institution  of  learning. 

As  for  Edward  Clarence,  although  he  felt  a  considerable 
contempt  for  these  gentlemen  and  their  acquirements,  he 
cpuld  not  quite  escape  the  infection  so  natural  to  his  a'ge,  and 
unconsciously  imitated  them  in  many  minor  particulars,  while 
they,  falling  in  with  the  current  of  public  opinion,  and  capti- 
vated by  his  pleasing  manners,  condescended  to  pronounce 
him  a  decided  "  wunner,"  a  chap  that  would  make  something 
one  of  these  days,  if  he  only  cultivated  himself  a  little  more, 
and  wouldn't  do  everything  so  carelessly. 


32  KATE   WESTON. 

One  member  of  the  party  was  considerably  in  advance 
of  all  his  companions.  Mr.  Higgins  was  the  gentleman  under 
whose  auspices  Edward  was  becoming  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  ./Esculapian  art.  He  had  come  merely  for  the 
sport  of  fishing — the  only  species  of  amusement  for  which  he 
had  any  taste,  and  of  which  he  was  passionately  fond.  He 
was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  a  face  that  never  wore  any  expres- 
sion but  a  most  lugubrious  smile,  to  which  another's  fiercest 
frown  would  have  seemed  quite  an  agreeable  contrast.  So 
pinched  and  meagre,  so  forlorn  and  desolate,  one  might  have 
fancied  him  perpetually  meditating  suicide,  had  he  not  always 
taken  such  excellent  care  of  his  precious  health,  never  start- 
ing from  home  without  extra  coats  and  shawls  enough  to 
smother  an  ordinary  matt,  "  in  case,"  he  said,  "  a  shower 
should  come  up,  or  he  should  be  unavoidably  detained  after 
nightfall."  The  consequence  of  all  this  care  was  a  violent 
fit  of  fever  and  ague  every  two  weeks,  and  the  pinched 
appearance  just  noticed. 

The  back  seat  was  allotted  to  this  gentleman,  Edward 
Clarence,  and  a  bashful  boy  in  a  very  high  collar,  with  a  head 
projecting  very,  much  as  a  turtle's  would  come  out  of  its  shell. 
The  young  collegians  were  seated  in  front,  swinging  their 
canes  with  such  tremendous  flourishes  as  were  quite  detri- 
mental to  the  self-possession  of  the  spirited  horses,  who,  every 
now  and  then,  catching  a  glimpse  of  them  brandishing  in  the 
air,  started  off  at  a  pace  that  required  considerable  skill  in 
the  driver  to  control. 

"  Halloa,  Dick,"  cried  young  Reid,  as  they  came  in  front  of 
the  new  saloon,  "  jutht  hold  up  a  minute  here.  I  left  an  order 
with  Gamp  that  I  want  to  thtop  for.  I'll  jump  out  for  a 
thecond.  Won't  you  take  a  glath  of  thomething  before  we 
thtart,  boyth  2"  All  declined  the  invitation  except  the  bash- 
ful boy  in  the  back  corner,  who  blushed  as  though  he  was 
expected  to  answer  for  the  company,  but  couldn't  summon 
resolution  to  speak,  and  Mr.  Reid  went  in  alone. 


KATE    WESTON.  33 

A  minute  afterwards  he  came  tripping  elegantly  back, 
followed  by  a  boy  carrying  a  basket  containing  a  few  bottles 
packed  in  straw,  and  a  dozen  or  two  of  handsome  oranges. 
As  he  jumped  into  his  seat  again,  he  turned  to  his  fellow- 
dandy,  exclaiming,  "  Thith  ith  at  my  expenth,  you  know  (the 
lank  man  on  the  back  seat  smiled  graciously  at  this  informa- 
tion, as  he  had  been  half  fearful  lest  a  tax  should  be  levied 
upon  the  company) ;  that  man  ith  a  very  enterprithing  fellow, 
Alithter  Myerth.  He  kept  a  thaloon  in  Catharine  threet.  I 
uthed  to  patronithe  him  there,  now  and  then.  That  finely 
furnished  thaloon  ith  quite  an  ornament  to  our  village,  do  you 
not  think  tho  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  his  companion, "  we  shall  have  chance 
for  a  little  life  now ;  sleigh-rides  in  the  winter,  and  picnics  in 
the  summer  are  nothing  unless  we  can  make  a  little  show  of 
something  more  than  bread  and  butter,  and  it's  always  been 
such  a  trouble  to  get  anything  out  here,  that  somehow  we 
never  have  any  fun  at  all." 

"Yeth,"  said  Mr.  Reid,  passing  his  fingers  thoughtfully 
through  his  whiskers,  "  all  the  boyth  rethiding  in  the  village 
have  cauthe  for  rejoithing,  I  am  sure.  You  alwayth  want 
thuch  a  plathe  to  give  thpirit  to  any  thort  of  thport." 

Here  the  bashful  boy  so  far  forgot  his  dignity  as  to  frown 
and  shake  his  head  violently  several  times,  but  suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself,  he  looked  at  every  one  in  the  company  to  se« 
if  any  one  had  noticed  him,  and  finding  himself  unobserved, 
looked  so  relieved,  that  Edward,  who  was  casting  a  sly  glance 
sidewise,  had  to  bite  his  lips  to  keep  himself  from  laughing. 
He  liked  the  looks  of  the  boy,  who,  for  a  short  time,  was 
studying  with  a  literary  gentleman  in  the  village,  and  deter- 
mined, if  possible,  to  scrape  acquaintance. 

"  Are  you  much  pleased  with  Laconia  ?"  he  asked ;  "  almost 
every  one  likes  it  that  comes  here." 

"Yes  sir,"  answered  his  companion,  "I  like  it  very  well." 

"  Have  you  ever  visited  here  before  ?" 

2* 


34  KATE   WESTON. 

"No  sir." 

"  I  think  it's  about  one  of  the  prettiest  spots  this  side  the 
Atlantic,"  said  Edward,  glancing  at  his  companion's  face. 
"  Look  behind  you,  now ;  isn't  that  beautiful  ?" 

The  gentleman  addressed  looked  very  much  afraid  to  stir, 
but  being  thus  appe.aled  to,  turned  his  head  stiffly  around, 
neck,  collar  and  all.  The  scene  they  looked  upon  was  indeed 
very  beautiful.  The  village  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  whose 
summit  they  had  just  gained,  smiling  up  among  the  trees. 
Clouds  of  smoke  curled  slowly  up  in  the  clear  air ;  fine  man- 
sions lay,  scattered  here  and  there,  among  the  neat  white  cot- 
tages, not  one  of  which  bore  marks  of  indolence  or  neglect. 

The  three  principal  churches  each  stood  on  a  little  rising 
ground,  distinctly  visible  from  almost  every  portion  of  the 
valley.  Now  and  then,  among  the  gay  autumn  foliage,  a 
narrow  stream  glistened  in  the  sun,  while  cattle  browsed  upon 
its  banks,  or  stretched  themselves  out  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
All  had  that  cheerful,  thrifty  appearance  that  speaks  of  unusual 
enterprise  and  content. 

The  bashful  boy  for  a  moment  forgot  his  bashfulness  and 
exclaimed  eagerly  "  How  beautiful !"  as  he  gazed  admiringly 
upon  the  landscape  lying  serenely  at  his  feet. 

Edward  watched  his  sparkling  eye,  and  began  to  entertain 
decided  hopes  of  him.  "  We  think  we  have  a  very  industri- 
ous set  of  villagers  here,  Mr.  Steele  ?"  said  he  inquiringly. 

The  "  Mr.  Steele "  recalled  that  personage  to  the  remem- 
brance that  he  must  "  hold  up  his  head  and  speak  like  a  man," 
so  he  turned  round  stiff  as  ever. 

"  Yes  sir,  I  should  think  so." 

"  There  are  other  things  too,"  resumed  his  companion,  "  that 
make  me  like  it  very  much.  We  have  excellent  fishing  here, 
and  nutting,  and  hunting  too,  at  some  seasons  of  the  year. 
A  great  many  visitors  come  here  from  New  York  in  the  sum 
mer.  Two  families  among  them  are  friends  of  ours,  Judge 
Ainslie's  and  Mr.  Dunn's.  Indeed,  with  the  latter  gentleman's 


KATE   WESTON.  35 

lively  little  daughter  I  carried  on  quite  a  flirtation  last  sum- 
mer,— on  brother  and  sister  terms,  you  know." 

"  I  know  Mr.  Dunn  very  well,"  ventured  his  listener. 

"  Indeed  ?"  exclaimed  Edward ;  "  I  am  going  down  to  New 
York  with  him  to-morrow.  I  have  a  number  of  little  matters 
to  attend  to  there,  and  Dr.  Higgins  will  excuse  me,  I'm  sure." 
He  winked  confidentially  at  his  companion,  thereby  encour- 
aging him  wonderfully,  as  the  gentleman  referred  to  turned 
round,  and  eying  him  stoically,  replied, 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Edward,  that  no  young  gentleman  pros- 
pers in  the  study  of  medicine  unless  he  treads  the  mill  steadily. 
I'm  afraid  you  are  getting  a  little  neglectful.  It'll  never  do 
unless  you  stick  to  it.  Prudence  is  what  you  want,  sir,  a  little 
more  prudence." 

"Well,"  answered  Edward,  "I  believe  I  do  now,  that's  a 
fact.  Father  says  so,  and  you  say  so,  though  I  can't  see  it 
myself;  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  reckless.  Some  day  I  may  get 
to  be  as  exemplary  as  Dr.  Higgins,  who  never  leaves  his  office 
but  three  times  a  year,  to  go  a  fishing  for  his  breakfast  and 
his  health.  I  can  assure  you,  Dr.  Higgins  is  quite  a  pattern 
for  us  all.  Even  when  he  has  the  ague  so  badly  that  he  has 
to  lie  for  half  the  day  on  the  settee,  he  will  be  at  his  office. 
Never  taking  rest,  even  in  illness." 

"  Tread*  the  mill  steadily,  Mr.  Steele,  that  is  my  motto," 
said  Dr.  Higgins.  "  Never  lose  a  penny  by  neglect.  I  have  to 
be  very  careful  of  myself,  my  health  is  so  poor,  but  for  all 
that  I've  sat  up  night  after  night  many  a  time  in  difficult 
cases.  And  yet,  it  isn't  a  great  deal  I've  been  able  to  scrape 
together,  only  a  little,  a  very  little."  He  looked  at  his  com- 
panions with  that  same  doleful  smile,  and  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully. 

Edward  took  the  chance  of  giving  another  sly  wink  at  his 
new  friend,  who  began  to  think  him  a  very  pleasant  fellow. 
"  You  said  you  knew  Mr.  Dunn,  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"Yes  sir." 


36  KATE    WESTON. 

"  He's  quite  a  gentlemanly  appearing  man." 

"  I  don't  like  him  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Steele,  shortly. 

"  Why  not  ?"  inquired  Edward. 

This  question  requiring  an  answer  longer  than  he  had  cour- 
age to  undertake,  Mr.  Steele  merely  twirled  his  thumbs,  and 
answered,  "  Because  I  don't." 

Edward  left  the  subject  until  some  more  convenient  oppor- 
tunity and  joined  in  the  general  conversation,  which,  by  this 
time,  was  becoming  quite  animated. 

The  great  wagon  jolted  along  over  the  road,  the  air  was 
clear  and  inspiriting,  the  country  gay  and  inviting.  Every- 
thing tended  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  young  men,  who  alter- 
nately jested,  laughed,  and  sang,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Steele,  who  did  not  dare,  and  Mr.  Higgins,  who  did  not  desire 
to  join  in  the  sport  of  their  companions. 

When  they  had  ridden  some  six  or  eight  miles,  the  wagon, 
after  making  a  sudden  curve  around  the  base  of  a  precipitous 
rock,  drew  up  before  the  door  of  a  dingy  cabin  on  the  bank 
of  the  river.  Oyster-shells  lay  scattered  along  in  front  of  the 
door,  fish-nets  were  spread  upon  the  grass  at  a  short  distance, 
and  boats  lay  high  and  dry  upon  the  shore.  Over  the  door  a 
sign  hung  out,  consisting  of  a  piece  of  weather-stained  board, 
with  the  inscription  in  chalk, 

• 

"  BOXES    AND    BATE    HERE." 

The  young  men  jumped  out,  and  Mr.  Reid,  as  spokesman 
of  the  party,  knocked  imperatively  at  the  door  with  the  head 
of  his  whalebone  cane.  An  elderly  woman  made  her  appear- 
ance with  a  very  wide-ruffled  cap  upon  her  head,  and  a  large 
ear-trumpet  in  her  hand. 

"  Have  you  any  boath  to  let  to-day,  my  good  woman  ?"  said 
the  young  gentleman,  with  foppish-dignity. 

The  old  woman  didn't  say  anything,  but  the  moment  she 
saw  his  lips  move,  she  whisked  the  huge  bowl  of  her  ear- 
trumpet  so  close  to  her  questioner's  face  that  it  seemed  a 


KATE    WESTON.  37 

dubious  question  if  it  was  not  her  intention  for  him  to  jump 
in,  and  inserting  the  other  end  in  her  ear,  stood  listening  for 
his  orders. 

"  Have  you  any  boath  to  let  to-day  ?"  again  inquired  the 
young  gentleman,  in  a  somewhat  louder  tone. 

"Boats  to  let?  Yes.  Walk  in,"  she  answered  shortly, 
dropping  her  trumpet,  and  motioning  them  to  follow  her. 
She  turned  round,  and  called  shrilly  to  a  stunted  man  who 
made  his  appearance  in  a  red  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  blue  cotton 
pants.  Having  arranged  matters  with  this  worthy  gentleman, 
our  friends  proceeded  to  remove  their  fishing  apparatus  from 
the  wagon  to  a  rickety  boat  that  had  been  shoved  off  by  the 
stunted  specimen  of  humanity  before  mentioned. 

"  Oh !  young  gentlemen,"  exclaimed  Dr.  Higgins  with  a 
doleful  shake  of  the  head,  "  you  are  not  going  in  that  shaky 
concern.  If  we  escape  drowning,  it'll  be  a  mercy«^p  But,  at 
the  least,  we  shall  some  of  us  take  our  death-cold.  -Don't 
you  see  it  leaks  through  the  bottom  ?  To  go  in  that  would 
be  a  willful  tempting  of  Providence." 

"  First  time  I  ever  knew  he  believed  in  a  Providence  at 
all,"  remarked  Edward  in  a  side  whisper  to  Steele. 

"  Never  mind,  if  it  makes  us  all  sick,  it'll  give  you  business, 
doctor,"  said  Myers,  jocularly.  Dr.  Higgins's  lank  figure 
looked  like  anything  but  business,  as  he  cast  such  deprecating 
glances  upon  the  leaky  boat,  which,  in  spite  of  him,  the  young 
men  were  making  the  repository  of  their  treasures. 

"  We  mutht  retholve  to  take  what  we  can  have,  if  we  can't 
have  what  we  would  take ;  thee  here,  doctor,  thith'll  keep 
out  the  chillth,"  remarked  Mr.  Reid,  swinging  his  basket  of 
wine  into  the  boat,  and  stepping  cautiously  in  the  glory  of 
newly  polished  boots  across  a  small  pucldte  that  lay  in  the 
centre. 

"  Oh,  we  mustn't  mind  a  drop  of  water  on  such  expeditions 
as  these,"  cried  Edward,  springing  lightly  in  after  him. 


38  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Come,  William,  you  are  a  novice  at  fishing-,  you  may  as  well 
sit  by  me  for  the  benefit  of  my  skill." 

Young  Steele  stepped  awkwardly  upon  the  seat,  as  three  or 
four  of  the  party  winked  at  each  other  in  appreciation  of  his 
queer  collar,  while  Myers  gave  the  corners  of  his  a  com- 
placent pull,  and  tossed  his  head  with  true  dandy  noncha- 
lance. 

The  fishing,  at  this  season,  was  excellent,  and  the  fishermen, 
with  the  agreeable  prospect  of  capital  sport  and  well-filled 
baskets,  were  in  the  best  spirits  possible.  The  dilapidated 
state  of  the  boat  caused  them  little  annoyance,  seeming  to  be 
rather  enjoyed  than  otherwise  by  the  greater  portion  of  the 
company.  Dr.  Higgins,  indeed,  lost  some  of  his  sport  in  his 
constant  fear  of  the  water  at  his  feet,  and  Mr.  Reid  had  some 
difficulty  in  concealing  his  anxiety  with  regard  to  his  shining 
boots.  At  length  he  bethought  himself  of  an  expedient. 

"  Harwood,  I'll  thteer  for  you,"  he  said,  making  a  cautious 
move  towards  the  stern.  "  I'm  a  firtht-rate  pilot." 

"Well,  you  can  have  the  place  and  welcome,"  said  his 
friend,  slipping  to  one  side.  "  I've  no  great  taste  for  the  busi- 
ness." 

Reid  seated  himself  carefully  in  the  end  of  the  boat,  elevat- 
ing his  feet  upon  the  seat,  to  the  no  small  amusement  of 
Edward  Clarence,  and  the  envy  of  the  less  politic  doctor. 
When  they  had  reached  a  suitable  place  and  cast  anchor,  they 
commenced  operations  immediately.  The  fish  nibbled  well, 
tbere  were  plenty  of  them,  and  our  party  were  pretty  good 
fishermen,  so  that  the  sport  was  of  the  most  exciting  charac- 
ter to  lovers  of  the  art,  in  which  William  Steele  alone  was  an 
entire  novice. 

After  two  or  three  hours  the  anglers  began  to  be  satisfied 
with  their  acquisitions.  Dr.  Higgins's  grim  smile  was  grim- 
mer than  ever,  as  he  crowded  in  the  last  fish  that  his  capa- 
cious basket  could  possibly  contain,  and  proceeded  to  lay 


KATE    WESTON.  39 

aside  his  line  and  fishing-hooks.  Young  Clarence  and  Reid 
had  also  succeeded  to  their  entire  satisfaction.  This  last 
young  gentleman,  having  become  weary  of  his  constrained 
position,  and  feeling  that  he  could  never  survive  the  disgrace 
of  making  his  appearance  in  the  village  with  muddy  boots, 
had  laid  aside  those  articles,  placing  them  with  his  stockings 
upon  the  bench  at  his  side,  and  stowing  his  bare  feet  under 
tb.eu.seat  in  close  proximity  to  the  water  in  the  boat.  Myers 
w_as,  or  pretended  to  be,  extremely  busy  with  a  kink  in  his 
line,  and  Steele,  who,  notwithstanding  his  efforts,  had  accom- 
plished very  little,  continued  his  operations,  feeling  quite 
flushed  at  the  consciousness  of  a  few  mischievous  smiles  that 
were  flying  about  at  his  expense. 

At  length  he  felt  a  sudden  jerk  at  his  line,  so  violent  as 
almost  to  snap  it  asunder.  "  Now  then,"  he  thought,  "  I  shall 
beat  them  all  hollow.  Not  a  bite  has  there  been  like  this 
to-day."  He  pulled  hard  and  fast,  and  at  length  gave  his 
prize  a  sudden,  .triumphant  swing  out  of  the  water,  when  lo, 
and  behold !  a  large  black  bottle  dangled  into  the  boat, 
greeted  with  a  roar  of  laughter  that  sent  the  blood  in  torrents 
to  the  young  man's  face. 

"  That's  some  of  your  work,  Myers,  I'll  be  bound,"  cried 
the  young  man  sitting  next  him.  "  I  thought  there  was  no 
kink  in  your  line.  You've  been  meddling  with  Reid's  cham- 
pagne." 

"  Never  mind,  Steele,"  said  Edward,  pitying  his  confusion, 
"  I've  had  the  same  trick  played  on  me  before  now.  Your 
hook  only  happened  to  get  caught  in  Myers'  line,  and  he's 
taken  advantage  of  the  accident,  you  see." 

5But  the  poor  fellow  did  mind  very  much.  He  couldn't 
help  minding.  Had  it  been  any  one  else  they  would  have 
felt  mortified.  But  to  him — there  is  no  knowing  what  might 
have  happened,  had  not  the  general  attention  at  this  moment 
been  diverted  by  a  short  shrill  cry  at  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
followed  by  a  splash  into  the  water.  Every  one  started  sud- 


40  KATE    WESTON. 

denly  round,  only  to  see  a  pair  of  exquisite  pants  and  naked 
feet  performing  various  pantomimes  in  the  air,  in  company 
with  a  huge  crab  that  evinced  a  decided  affection  for  the  great 
toe  of  the  left  foot,  and  formed  a  picturesque  ornament  to 
that  interesting  member.  The  remainder  of  the  body  to 
which  those  articles  belonged  was  entirely  concealed  under 
the  water,  notwithstanding  the  firm  grasp  of  the  amphibious 
gentleman's  hand  upon  the  side  of  the  boat.  Poor  Reid  had 
been  so  much  engaged  in  laughing  at  Steele,  that  he  had  for- 
gotten the  crabs  crawling  under  ihe  seat,  and  this  was  the 
lamentable  result.  He  had  saved  his  boots  and  lost  his 
head. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  fish  him  out  as  speedily 
as  possible,  and  rub  his  head  dry,  a  process  which  seemed 
highly  satisfactory  to  the  young  gentleman  himself,  and,  when 
it  was  ascertained  that  no  injury  had  been  done,  highly 
amusing  to  his  comrades.  They  wisely  concluded  that  they 
had  enjoyed  sport  enough  for  one  day,  and  turned  the  boat 
shoreward,  Edward  volunteering  to  act  as  steersman  for  the 
rest  of  the  journey. 

When  they  had  unloaded  their  boat,  they  proceeded  to  re- 
move the  basket  of  provisions  they  had  brought  from  the 
wagon,  and  to  seat  themselves  upon  the  grass  to  partake  in  a 
homely  manner  of  an  excellent  repast. 

Young  Reid  seized  the  wine,  pouring  it  out,  and  passing  it 
with  a  smirk  to  each  gentleman  present.  Edward  hesitated 
for  a  moment  as  he  remembered  his  father's  opposition  to  the 
saloon,  but,  satisfying  himself  that  he  could  have  no  objection 
to  wine,when  temperately  used,  took  his  glass  with  a  smile, 
and  sipped  it  with  all  the  more  relish  after  his  afternoon's 
task. 

Dr.  Higgins  very  complacently  observed  that,  "  it  was  ex- 
cellent wine  ;  never  tasted  better.  Thought  Mr.  Reid  quite  a 
judge." 

Mr.  Reid  observed  that,  he  "  never  uthed  any  but  the  betht ; 


KATE    WESTON.  41 

a  tip-top  article  or  none  at  all  for  him ;  he  conthidered  him- 
thelf  thomething  of  a  judge,  thertainly." 

The  bashful  Mr.  Steele  alone  declined  touching  anything 
but  water.  They  urged  him  to  join  them,  but,  although  evi- 
dently alarmed  at  what  might  be  the  result  of  his  temerity, 
he  positively  declined ;  whereupon  Mr.  Myers  took  occasion 
to  remark  in  an  undertone  to  Mr.  Reid  that,  "  he  was  a  green 
'un,"  and  MP.  Reid  honored  the  shirt-collar  and  the  head  it 
contained  with  a  prolonged  stare  that  made  poor  Steele  color 
up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  down  to  the  tips  of  his 
fingers. 

"  Mithter  Clarenth,  I  believe  you  are  to  addreth  uth  thith 
evening,"  remarked  Reid.  "  Pray,  upon  what  thubject  do  you 
treat?" 

"  The  young  men  of  our  country,"  answered  he. 

"  Ah,  yeth,"  answered  his  questioner,  Avith  a  patronizing 
air.  "  A  very  good  thubject,  thertainly,  a  grand  thubject. 
I  intend  to  choothe  that  for  my  own  at  the  necth  quarterly. 
A  motht  inthpiring  theme.  Mr.  Thteele,  do  you  ever  thpeak 
in  public  ?" 

"  Sometimes,  sir,"  said  he,  hesitatingly. 

"  Pray  couldn't  you  give  us  a  stump  speech  now,"  said  Mr. 
Myers,  laying  his  head  impressively  on  one  side ;  "  we  ought 
to  have  something  of  the  kind." 

The  poor  fellow  looked  so  frightened,  and  Myers  evidently 
took  such  delight  in  teasing  him,  that  Edward  thought  it  high 
time  to  turn  the  tables,  so  he  called  out,  "  Oh,  I  have  it,  I 
have  it,  Ned  Myers  must  give  us  his  last  oration.  Come  now, 
don't  make  any  excuses,  we'll  have  it,  won't  we  boys  ?"  Some 
half-dozen  seconded  this  proposal,  but  Mr.  Myers  earnestly 
begged  to  be  excused,  declaring  that  he  "  could  not  remember 
a  word  of  it,  hadn't  looked  at  it  since,"  <fec.  &c. 

Edward,  who,  having  known  him  intimately  at  school, 
secretly  imagined  that  he  had  never  written  it  at  all,  inas- 
much as  he  had  never  been  known  to  compose  a  page  worth 


42  KATE   WESTON. 

reading  in  his  life,  insisted  upon  it  so  strenuously,  that  Myers 
began  to  be  quite  alarmed. 

"  Give  us  a  stump  speech  then,"  cried  Edward,  "  we'll  be 
satisfied  with  that." 

The  gentleman  protested,  and  insisted,  and  declared,  to  an 
extent  that  was  actually  surprising,  but  at  length  young 
Clarence,  who  was  really  very  much  averse  to  giving  pain, 
even  when  actually  deserved,  let  him  off  with  a  wink  at  his 
timid  friend,  who  felt  considerably  reassured  by  this  tune,  and 
who  fully  understood  the  drift  of  the  whole  affair. 

At  length,  having  finished  their  repast,  Steele  and  Clarence 
walked  away,  leaving  Dr.  Higgins  taking  his  sixth  glass  of 
wine,  and  solemnly  denouncing  all  who  were  so  imprudent 
and  improvident  as  to  indulge  too  freely  in  that  inspiring 
beverage. 

"  Why  did  you  refuse  to  take  the  wine  ?"  said  Edward  to 
his  companion,  as  they  walked  away. 

"  Because  I'm  a  teetotaller,  and  never  will  be  anything  else 
as  long  as  I  live,"  said  his  companion  earnestly. 

Edward  was  a  little  surprised  at  such  a  decided  opinion, 
but  merely  remarked,  "  You  must  have  some  peculiar  reason 
for  being  so  earnest,  Mr.  Steele." 

The  championship  of  Edward  had  done  a  great  deal  towards 
loosening  the  tongue  of  William  Steele,  so  he  answered  quite 
naturally,  "I  have  cause  enough,  Mr.  Clarence." 

"  Call  me  Edward,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  his  com- 
panion, "  and  I  shall  call  you  William." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  Edward  then.  When  I  was  a  little  boy 
I  had  a  schoolmate  whose  father  died  of  delirium  tremens. 
I  saw  him  when  he  died,  and  he  kept  on  cursing  the  first 
glass,  and  raving  about  the  first  temptation.  ^  I  signed  the 
Temperance  Pledge  then,  and  I'll  never  break  it^  if  I  can  help 
it,  to  the  day  of  my  death." 

"  But  you  don't  imagine,"  said  Edward,  "  that  you  haven't 
sense  enough  to  keep  from  killing  yourself.  WTiy,  you  might 


KATE   WESTON.  43 

take  two  or  three  glasses  of  wine  every  day  of  your  life,  and 
never  die  a  drunkard.  Temperance  is  necessary  even  in  eat- 
ing. I  would  as  lief  be  a  drunkard  as  a  glutton." 

"  Yes,  but  there  isn't  the  same  temptation  to  that.  There 
is  that,  I  tell  you,  in  liquor  of  any  kind,  that  chains  the  body 
and  soul  of  those  who  indulge  in  it.  It's  a  fire  that  once 
kindled,  wants  fresh  fuel  every  day  and  every  hour.  It's  a 
thirst  that's  never  quenched.  I'll  never  get  under  its  power, 
never." 

Edward  was  astonished.  He  looked  at  Steele,  thinking 
inwardly  that  the  turtle  was  coming  out  of  his  shell,  and  won- 
dering how  he  would  look  without  that  astonishing  collar. 

They  were  now  rejoined  by  the  rest  of  the  company,  where- 
upon Mr.  Steele  became  suddenly  rigid  and  stiff  as  ever, 
keeping  always  close  by  Edward,  as  though  it  were  a  mighty 
comfort  to  have  anybody  at  hand  with  whom  he  could  feel 
quite  at  ease.  , 

It  required  some  expedition  for  the  young  men  to  reach 
home,  and  refresh  themselves  with  a  thorough  ablution  and  a 
new  toilette  in  time  for  the  evening  Lyceum,  where  Edward 
delivered  his  address  to  the  edification  of  the  public,  and  the 
pride  of  his  more  immediate  friends. 


44  KATE    WESTON. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Miss  ARAMINTA  DUNN  reclined  at  ease  upon  a  richly-covered 
lounge,  with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand.  The  long  parlor 
bore  marks  of  the  wealth  and  taste  of  its  owner.  The  softest 
velvet  carpet  in  the  world  spread  out  luxuriantly  upon  the 
floor,  like  a  turf  scattered  full  of  the  loveliest  flowers  of  sum- 
mer. Silk  and  lace  curtains  fell  over  the  windows,  supported 
and  looped  by  cornices  and  arms  of  the  most  exquisite  work- 
manship. Mirrors,  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling,  gave  back 
the  soft  light  in  a  softer  glow.  Pictures,  the  work  of  our 
most  eminent  artists,  were  arranged  with  a  view  to  the  best 
effect.  Bronze  branches,  carved  to  imitate  ieaves  and  flowers, 
poured  out  their  jets  of  light. 

Ornaments  of  ormolu  lay  scattered  here  and  there  upon 
the  tables.  Chairs,  elaborately  carved,  and  spreading  out 
their  velvet  cushions,  invited  to  repose.  A  splendid  clock, 
that  every  hour  sent  a  lady  riding  out  from  a  secret  chamber 
to  sound  the  hour  with  a  silver  bell,  stood  covered  with  glass 
upon  the  mantel.  Alabaster  figures,  bending  in  graceful  atti- 
tudes, were  disposed  about  the  room.  Nothing  was  wanting 
that  money  could  buy,  or  the  most  exacting, taste  desire. 

Miss  Araminta  was  not  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  any 
of  the  pretty  things  aboufr  her,  but  lay  there,  poring  over  the 
contents  of  that  open  letter.  You  could  easily  see  that  she 
was  one  of  those  pets  of  fortune  to  whom  nothing  had  ever 
been  denied.  She  was  not  faultlessly  beautiful,  but  all  that 
art  and  dress  could  do,  heightened  the  comeliness  of  the  fair 
face  and  graceful  figure.  So  delicate,  so  fragile,  as  though  a 


KATE    WESTON.  45 

breath  might  destroy  her,  and  yet  so  much  animation  in  the 
curve  of  the  lip,  and  flash  of  the  eye,  that  one  was  instinc- 
tively drawn  to  her  side,  in  spite  of  whatever  contempt  for 
doll-faces  they  might  venture  to  express. 

Mr.  Dunn,  having  been  left  a  widower  during  the  infancy  of 
his  daughter,  had  trusted  her  almost  exclusively  to  servants, 
who  had  instilled  into  her  mind  whatever  suited  their  fancy, 
while  her  father  himself,  a  devoted  man  of  the  world,  seldom 
found  fault  with  the  flattery  and  adulation  every  one  lavished 
upon  her,  or  with  the  paramount  importance  in  which  gaiety, 
dress,  and  show  were  held  by  those  who  instructed  her. 

It  was  not  strange  that  the  young  lady,  surrounded  by  such 
influence,  should  gradually  come  to  be  extremely  vain  and 
flippant,  nor  was  it  strange  that  her  father,  although  almost 
idolizing  his  child,  should  fail,  engrossed  as  he  was  in  the 
pursuit  of  wealth  and  pleasure,  in  strengthening  those  links 
that  bind  together  the  parent  and  child.  He  often  wondered, 
Avith  uneasiness  and  chagrin,  that  she  seemed  so  indifferent  to 
his  absence,  never  reflecting  that  all  through  her  life  he  had 
left  her  night  after  night  in  quest  of  pleasure. 

It  was  not  particularly  unnatural,  that  as  soon  as  she  was 
old  enough  to  be  his  companion  in  the  fashionable  world,  she 
should  choose  other  associates  than  her  father,  or  that  while 
he  was  playing  whist  at  the  card-table,  or  drinking  Madeira 
in  the  supper-room,  she  should  polk  and  schottisch  with  the 
fine  moustaches  and  Spanish-looking  eyes  in  the  parlor. 

The  letter  she  held  in  her  hand  was  from  her  accepted 
lover,  a  Southern  gentleman  whom  she  had  met  at  a  private 
ball,  the  handsomest  and  most  amusing  gentleman,  she 
thought,  she  had  ever  seen.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to 
say  whether  the  young  lady  was  most  in  love  with  the  unex- 
ceptionable cut  of  his  coat,  or  the  orange  groves  and  spacious 
halls  of  his  Southern  inheritance,  for  both  had  certainly  much 
to  do  with  the  matter.  She  had,  however,  determined  to 
marry  him  with  or  without  her  father's  consent,  which  he  had 


46  KATE   WESTON. 

decidedly  refused,  threatening  to  disinherit  her  for  ever  if  she 
'disregarded  his  commands.  Like  all  other  spoilt  beauties,  she 
was  extremely  willful,  judging  that  herself  was  the  proper 
arbiter  of  her  own  affections,  so  the  next  night  had  been 
appointed  for  their  elopement. 

She  hastily  crumpled  the  paper  into  her  pocket  as  she 
heard  her  father's  ring  at  the  door. 

"Well,  Minnie,  you  see  I  am  here  in  time,  and  have 
brought  your  old  friend  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Dunn,  saluting 
his  daughter  with  a  kiss. 

The  young  lady  stepped  forward,  delicately  extending  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  to  Edward  Clarence. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Dunn,"  said  Edward  cordially ;  "  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you  looking  so  well.  City  air  hasn't  injured 
you  yet." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered,  putting. on  some  airs,  that 
somehow  seem  indigenous  to  freshly  blown  young  ladyism.  "I 
think  I  am  better  now  .that  I  have  resumed  my  old  habits 
again.  I  am  getting  quite  dissipated,  I  can  assure  you." 

" Indeed !"  said  Edward ;  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  Dis- 
sipation in  young  men  is  bad  enough,  but  in  young  ladies  it 
is  ruinous.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  answered  the  lady,  with  a  slight  shake 
of  her  head,  "  nothing  but  going  to  the  opera  one  night,  to  a 
party  the  next,  and  having  a  reception  the  next,  ever  since 
I  came  from  Laconia.  You  saucy  fellow,  how  dare  vou 
express  so  free  an  opinion  to  a  lady  ?" 

"  You  know,"  he  answered,  "  I  always  say  precisely  what 
I  think,  and  that  is  more  than  you  expect  after  listening  to 
the  compliments  of  your  city  gentlemen.  Don't  try  to.  bo 
angry,  for  I  see  through  it  all  so  plainly  that  it  will  do  no 
good.  But  I  had  almost  forgotten,  Molly  sent  you  a  bouquet 
of  late  dahlias.  Excuse  me,  I  will  step  into  the  hall  for 
them." 

Araminta  was  "perfectly  charmed,"  thought  the  flowers 


KATE   WESTON.  47 

"  divine,"  and  wished  so  much  she  could  see  dear  little  Molly, 
she  had  a  great  secret  for  her. 

"You  have- a  new  dress  of  the  finest  china  crape  for  your 
next  party ;  can't  I  guess  a  secret  now  ?" 

Arami'nta  smiled  and  shook  her  head,  thinking  to  herself 
how  much  more  important  an  article  a  husband  must  be  than 
a  new  crape  dress,  and  wondering  what  her  country  friend 
would  say  if  she  only  knew  it. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  exclaimed  she,  "  we  are  to  have  a 
party  here  to-morrow  evening,  and  you  must  stay  till  it's  over. 
I  have  sent  invitations  to  the  prettiest  young  ladies  in  the 
city.  Maybe  you'll  lose  your  heart  to  some  of  them. — By 
the  way,  how  is  Kate  Weston  ?"  added  she,  turning  suddenly 
round,  and  looking  in  his  face. 

"  Quite  well,  I  believe,"  he  answered,  with  a  vain  attempt 
at  indifference,  "  was  the  last  time  I  saw  her." 

"Which  was  the  last  thing  before  you  came  away,  of 
course,"  said  Miss  Dunn,  highly  delighted  at  his  confusion. 
"  But  here  comes  the  tea, — I  wonder  where  Father  can  be 
staying." 

Mr.  Dunn  had  merely  stepped  up  to  his  library  to  lay  aside 
some  important  papers  he. had  brought  home,  but  soon  reap- 
peared, and  seated  himself  leisurely  at  the  table.  His  daughter 
looked  earnestly  in  his  face,  as  he  sat  there  with  silvered  hair 
and  anxious  brow,  and  it  would  be  unjust  to  her  to  say  that 
she  felt  no  pang  at  the  thought  of  that  father's  sorrow  when 
he  should  find  her  gone.  But  then  she  reflected  that  he  would 
forget  both  sorrow  and  displeasure  soon.  What  rational 
objection  could  he  have  to  Adolphus  Marteau  ?  She  knew 
her  own  heart  better  than  her  father,  and  his  ideas  about  her 
lover  were  utterly  false.  Who  could  think  him  insincere 
with  that  full  dark  eye  gazing  so  calmly  into  theirs,  or  who 
could  for  a  moment  doubt  his  pretensions  to  aristocracy, 
•with  that  elegant  air  marking  him  indubitably  as  one  of  the 


•> 

48  KATE    WESTON. 

When  the  supper  was  brought  in,  Mr.  Dunn  ordered  the 
waiter  to  bring  him  a  little  rare  old  wine  from  the  cellar, 
"some,"  added  he,  turning  to  Edward,  "that  was  imported 
in  '32.  The  rarest  I  have  ever  tasted." 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  if  you  please,"  said  his  young  guest, 
bowing,  "  I  prefer  taking  none  to-night." 

"Why  surely,"  answered  Mr.  Dunn,  with  a  slight  smile  of 
ridicule  playing  over  his  face,  "  you  are  not  going  in  for  tee- 
totalism.  I  hope  you  are  not  such  a  fool  as  that,  my  boy." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  I  advocate  that,  though  I  do  think 
it  a  question  whether  it's  not  as  good  a  principle  as  was  ever 
carried  out.  My  father  thinks  so,  at  any  rate." 

"  Tut — tut — nonsense ;  why,  according  to  that  I  should  be 
a  wretch  worthy  of  contempt  and  banishment,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what.  My  opinion  is  just  this,  that  all  those  people 
are  making  desperate  fools  of  themselves,  and  will  have  to 
hide  their  diminished  heads  after  a  couple  of  years.  To 
think:  of  condemning  a  man  for  selling  or  drinking  wine.  I'd 
much  rather  go  without  my  breakfast  than  my  glass  of  toddy> 
and  if  I  drink  it  myself,  I'm  sure  I'd  allow  the  same  privilege 
to  my  poorer  neighbors." 

Edward  shook  his  head  with  a  dubious  smile.  "  I  have 
known  some  excellent  men  who  were  teetotallers,  my  father 
among  the  number,  and  I  have  a  fancy  that  way  myself." 

"  Edward,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dunn,  "  there's  no  knowing  where 
it  will  end  when  such  a  fine  fellow  as  you  twists  such  fanati- 
cal notions  into  his  head.  Depend  on  it,  'twill  injure  your 
prospects  in  life.  Nobody  likes  to  see  a  young  man  so  illi- 
beral. He  is  always  set  down  as  one  of  the  '  holier  than  thou ' 
sort  of  people  that  every  body  is  anxious  to  avoid." 

"  You  seemed  to  be  anxious  for  our  benefit,  when  you  sent 
Mr.  Gamp  to  our  village,"  said  Edward,  not  knowing  exactly 
Low  to  answer  the  last  appeal ;  "  if  you  could  hear  what  my 
father  says  of  his  establishment,  I'm  afraid  I  should  be  out  of 
favor  altogether." 


KATE    WESTON.  49 

At  this  moment  the  waiter  set  the  wine  upon  the  table, 
and  Mr.  Dunn,  pouring  out  a  glass,  handed  it  to  the  y&ung 
man,  begging  him  to  try  it,  just  try  it,  nothing  more. 

It  was  difficult  to  decline  so  pressing  a  request,  so  Edward 
took  it,  with  his  thoughts  reverting  to  the  headache  that  had 
been  the  consequence  of  last  night's  indulgence. 

"  You  don't  intend  to  say  that  you  are  not  going  to  patron- 
ize Gamp  at  all  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dunn. 

I  may  take  a  little  cream  or  oysters  now  and  then,  or  even 
an  odd  glass  of  wine,  but  for  all  that,  I  think  his  entree  will 
be  a  great  injury  to  pur  village.  I  don't  like  his  looks  either ; 
I'd  venture  to  say  he  has  had  a  hand  in  some  black  affair  or 
other  in  the  course  of  his  life.  I  noted  him  well  when  a 
party  of  us  dropped  in  after  the  Lyceum  last  night." 

His  listener  bent  his  head  quite  low  over  his  plate,  but 
Edward  could  see  a  shadow  pass  across  his  forehead,  so  drop- 
ping the  subject,  he  commenced  a  lively  chat  with  Miss 
Araminta,  who  alternately  sipped  her  wine  and  nibbled  her 
cake,  very  much  as  a  canary  bird  would  have  regaled  him- 
self on  sugar  and  water. 

The  waiter,  having  occasion  to  descend  to  the  kitchen  for 
some  trivial  article,  informed  the  company  then  and  there 
assembled,  that  "  Tim  Gamp,  what  shut  up  in  Catharine  street, 
had  been  and  sot  up  business  in  Laconia,  and  that  he  was 
mighty  glad  on't,  cause  he  never  could  get  a  drop  o'  nothin' 
when  he  was  a  stayin'  out  there  in  that  oncivilized  place." 

He  did  not  stay  to  notice  the  effect  of  his  observation, 
which  created  a  very  sudden  and  violent  commotion. 

"  Faith,  an'  its  the  Evil  One  hisself  that's  been  afther  send- 
ing him  out  there,"  cried  the  jolly-looking  laundress,  who  sat 
comfortably  warrding  her  feet  at  the  fire.  "  In  my  opinion, 
all  the  rumsellers  ought  to  be  clapped  into  jail  till  they  come 
a  little  to  their  senses." 

"  Hush,  Biddy  girl,  I  never  heard  nothing  like  you,"  said 
the  cook,  stopping  short,  with  the  tea-pot  in  one  hand,  and 

3 


50  KATE    WESTOX. 

the  knife-basket  in  the  other.  "Can't  you  remember  that 
Mr.  Dunn  himself  is  a  dealer  ?" 

"I  can't  help  it,  Ann,"  was  the  emphatic  retort;  "if 
me  own  father  was  a  daler  in  that  same,  I'd  say  he  had 
niver  a  bit  of  business  to  be  murdhering  a  man,  an'  dhriving 
the  sowl  out  iv  him  intirely.  Och  !  Teddy,  darlint,  I  thrimble 
for  ye !" 

Ann  merely  answered  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
intended  to  intimate  that  she  wouldn't  be  so  bold  for  the 
world,  but  her  husband,  who  was  an  inveterate  stutterer,  and 
who  had  been  snoring  in  the  corner,  raised  his  head  sud- 
denly, stammering  out,  "  N — n — n — now  wh — wh — what  are 
you  tr — t — t — tr — trembling  over,  Biddy  ?" 

"  Thrimbling  is  it  I  said  ?"  exclaimed  she,  "  thrimbling ! 
It's  a  killing  iv  meself  I'll  be,  if  Teddy  gets  into  bad  ways 
agin.  Sure  but  it  would  break  my  heart  to  say  them  poor 
childher  in  the  throuble  they  was  in  afore.  Och,  sorra's  the 
day  that  iver  that  child  o'  Satan  opened  his  rum-shop  in 
Laconia !" 

"  J — -j — just  c — c — co — comfort  yourself,  Biddy,"  answered 
the  coachman ;  "  t — t — tain't  at  all  likely  he'll  t — t — turn  out 
bad  again.  He's  had  enough." 

"  Well  thin,"  she  rejoined,  "  an'  I  hope  he  has,  an'  it  isn't 
Bridget  Toole  that  would  be  saying  anything  conthrary,  an' 
accusing  her  own  brother  iv  things  he'd  niver  do,  only  there's 
no  telling ;  when  the  dhrink's  once  afore  his  nose,  he  can't 
kape  hisself  from  tasting  it.  An'  me  rejoicing  so  at  the  being 
so  sure  he'd  niver  git  a  chance  at  it  agin !" 

"  Well  now,"  said  the  cook,  "  I  always  told  you  not  to  let 
him  away  from  you  ;  he'd  be  not  a  bit  better  off  there  than 
here.  If  a  man's  got  a  mind  to  be  a  rascal*" 

"  Now,"  cried  Miss  Bridget  angrily,  "  if  anybody  dares  to 
say  that  same  o'  the  brother  that's  been  the  life  o'  my  heart 
for  twinty  year  an'  more,  iver  since  we  set  foot  on  the  sile  of 
Ameriky !  An'  wasn't  he  the  best-natured,  and  the  honestest, 


KATE    WESTON.  51 

an'  the  lovinest  lad  on  airth,  till  the  crathur  destroyed  him 
intirely  ?  An'  when  meself  once  put  it  in  his  head  to  lave 
all  his  throubles  and  thrials  behind  him,  an'  go  where  he 
could  git  niver  a  dhrop  o'  the  nasty,  hateful,  bastely,  murdher- 
ing  stuff,  didn't  he  mind  me  ?"  And  isn't  it  hisself  that's  the 
stiddiest,  industrisest  husband  an'  father  in  all  Laconia  ?" 

"  But  what  made  him  drink  at  all,  then  ?"  said  the  cook. 
"  It  didn't  pour  itself  down  his  throat.  I've  got  no  patience 
with  these  silly  chaps  that  can't  let  the  fire  alone,  when  they 
know  it  burns  them.  I " 

"  Och,"  interrupted  Biddy,  "  but  you  lay  the  blame  at  the 
wrong  door  thin,  an'  I'll  stan'  up  for  Teddy  as  long  as  I  live, 
that  he'd  never  kape  a  shop  to  sell  rum  till  the  manest  crathur 
upon  airth.  An'  how  is  a  poor,  good-natured  boy  like  him  to 
kape  out  o'  danger  ?  He'd  a'most  thry  to  swim  acrost  the  say, 
if  any  spalpeen  was  baste  enough  to  ax  him,  and  how's  he  to 
help  dhrinking,  when  there's  some  dirty  varmint  of  a  Dutch- 
man on  every  corner,  a  winkin'  an'  a  bliukin',  jest  like  a  sar- 
pint  Avaiting  to  devour.  Och,  but  Ameriky's  a  glorious  place 
if  they  would  dhrive  away  the  crathur  !  If  St.  Patrick  wasn't 
clane  gone  intirely  now  !  Many's  the  time  I've  cried  all  night 
long,  a  wishing  an'  a  wishing  that  he'd  jist  step  down  an'  dhrive 
all  the  speqits,  rum,  an'  gin,  an'  brandy,  an'  whisky,  out 
an'  out  of  Ameriky,  as  he  dhrove  the  sarpfnts  out  of  Ire- 
land !" 

"  M — m — may  as  well  take  it  easy,"  stuttered  the  coach- 
man. "  D — d — don't  believe  he'll  get  t — t — tipsy  again." 

"•  Niver  a  bit  do  I  vex  meself  for  nothing,"  answered  Biddy. 
"  They  kape  a  talking  an'  a  talking  about  old  maids,  an'  a 
saying  that  it  be's  so  bad  for  the  timper,  but  I  don't  belave 
that  same  at  all,  at  all,  for  there's  niver  a  married  woman  I 
know,  that's  raaly  as  happy  as  Biddy  Toole,  if  they'd  only  be 
afther  letting  her  baby  alone." 

The  baby  referred  to,  being  a  man  of  thirty  with  a  wife 
and  some  half-dozen  children,  the  cook  winked  at  the  coach- 


52  KATE    WESTON. 

man,  and  the  coachman,  dropping  back  upon  his  couch 
grunted  at  the  cook,  while  Biddy,  sitting  bolt  upright,  folded 
her  brawny  arms,  and  looked,  with  her  broad  face  a  little 
.cloudier  than  usual,  but  yet  with  an  expression  of  complacent 
satisfaction,  straight  into  the  fire. 

Now  it  so  happened,  that  while  all  these  matters  were  being 
discussed  in  parlor  and  kitchen,  a  little  weary  barefoot  girl 
stood  shivering  on  the  side-walk,  taking  a  survey  of  the  pre- 
mises, now  standing  on  tiptoe  to  gaze  between  the  curtains 
at  the  beautiful  things  in  the  parlor,  now  stooping  with  wist- 
ful eyes  to  see  the  comfortable  fire  in  the  kitchen,  where  the 
servants  seemed  enjoying  such  a  cosy  chat  among  them- 
selves. 

Then  the  little  girl  sat  down  upon  the  carriage  step  before 
the  door  to  rest  herself,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand. 
She  was  thinking,  poor  child,  if  she  could  only  stretch  herself 
down  upon  that  dry  floor,  and  sleep  till  morning.  How  plea- 
sant and  motherly  that  great  comfortable-looking  woman 
must  be,  sitting  so  straight  in  the  chair  by  the  fire.  How 
cosily  that  man  settled  himself  to  sleep  in  the  dark  corner 
beyond.  How  delicious  that  bread  and  butter  and  meat 
looked,  as  the  other  woman  stowed  them,  away  in  the  closet. 
How  hungry  and  tired  she  did  feel ! 

But  she  must  go  home.  That  was  no  place  for  her.  She 
wondered  whether  the  watchman  would  let  her  sleep  on  a 
bench  in  the  Parade-ground.  No,  she  was  almost  afraid  to 
do  that,  but  her  cellar  was  so  damp,  and  cold,  and  dark,  she 
thought  she  would  rather  venture  it.  Why  had  they  turned 
her  out  of  her  place  when  she  had  tried  so  hard  to  please 
them  ?  Why  must  she  wander  about  the  streets,  homeless 
and  friendless,  when  others  rolled  all  day  in  their  beautiful 
carriages,  and  slept  all  night  on  beds  of  down  ?  Why  had 
her  mother  sent  her  to  school,  and  kept  her  neat  and  clean  so 
long,  while  she  scarcely  spoke  to  her,  and  left  her  alone  for  days 
together  ?  Why  had  she  put  her  away  from  her  to  a  strange 


KATE    WESTOX.  53 

place,  and  never  come  near  her  for  a  year  ?  And  why  did 
she  come  at  last,  one  night,  pale  and  thin,  and  cry  over  her, 
and  kiss  her,  and  go  away  again,  telling  her  that  she  could 
never  see  her  more  ?  It  was  very  strange. 

And  then  her  mistress  had  turned  her  away  without  her 
knowing  why.  She  had  washed  the  sidewalk,  and  run  of 
errands,  and  taken  care  of  the  baby,  and  done  everything  she 
was  expected  to  do,  and  nobody  had  found  fault  with  her. 
Where  could  her  mother  be  ?  She  had  gone  to  their  old  lodg- 
ing, but  nobody  knew  anything  about  her,  and  then  she  had 
paid  the  woman  in  the  basement  her  last  shilling  for  letting 
her  sleep  a  few  nights  on  the  floor.  How  nice  that  fire 
looked ! 

Then  she  thought  maybe  that  pleasant  woman  would  pity 
her,  and  let  her  sleep  there.  No,  it  was  no  use  ;  that  was  not 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  she  wouldn't  ask.  If  they 
only  knew  now,  just  how  she  felt,  and  would  believe  her  story. 
She  had  wandered  from'house  to  house,  being  driven  rudely 
away,  or  unnoticed  entirely,  until  she  thought  she  would  have 
to  die  soon,  and  almost  wished  she  could.  If  she  could  put 
her  trust  in  God,  as  her  teacher  had  told  her  once,  perhaps 
she  could  die  easier.  She  didn't  know. 

She  might  have  been  some  twelve  years  of  age,  or  maybe 
a  little  older ;  thin  and  sallow,  with  great  brown  eyes,  and  a 
profusion  of  dark,  untended  curls  blowing  out  from  beneath 
the  tattered  sun-bonnet.  Her  neck  and  face  were  red  with 
cold ;  her  delicate  feet  were  blistered  with  her  weary  journey, 
and  her  light  dress  but  miserably  warded  off  the  chilly  even- 
ing blast. 

So  the  poor  little  girl  sat  there  on  that  dark  October  night, 
utterly  wretched  and  hopeless,  while  men  hurried  by  to  happy 
homes  and  cheerful  firesides,  where  wives  and  mothers  and 
children  were  waiting  their  return,  and  boards  heaped  with 
plenty  were  spread  temptingly  within.  "While  the  carriage 
of  the  belle  whirled  by  towards  some  scene  of  triumph,  and 


54  KATE    WESTON. 

the  beautiful  girl  within,  cast  through  the  darkness  a  passing 
glance  at  the  heartsick  wanderer  without.  While  the  great 
house  on  the  corner,  glowing  with  light  from  garret  to  cellar, 
threw  open  its  doors  to  the  satin-slippered  child  of  fashion, 
tripping  haughtily  in  the  consciousness  of  unquestionable  ton 
through  the  mazy  waltz  or  less-inspiring  quadrille.  While 
men  and  women,  with  hearts  where  God  had  planted  tender- 
ness, and  love,  and  pity,  settled  themselves  complacently  in 
luxurious  Voltaires,  with  that  living  sermon  on  their  neglected 
duties  weeping  at  their  very  doors. 

And  such  as  her,  wandering  through  every  highway  of  our 
proud  city,  struggling  against  scorn,  neglect  and  oppression, 
suffering  hunger  and  cold,  and  dying  in  airless  rooms  and 
mildewed  cellars  of  starvation  and  neglect. 

As  the  large  woman  drew  her  feet  from  the  fire,  a  sudden 
impulse  seized  the  child.  She  started  to  her  feet,  and  ran 
•  hurriedly  down  the  basement  steps. 

"  What's  that  2"  said  .the  cook,  as  the  child's  figure  flitted 
by  the  basement  window.  • "  There's  a  rap  at  the  door, 
Thomas." 

"I'll  go,"  cried  Biddy,  casting  a  glance  at  the  snoring 
coachman ;  "  sure  I'm  niver  a  bit  afeard  in  me  own  house,  an' 
if  ye  weren't  a  coward,  ye  wouldn't  be  ayther." 

"  Won't  you  please  give  me  a  piece  of  bread  ?"  said  a  sweet 
childish  voice  from  the  dark  area  ;  "  I'm  very  hungry." 

"  Jist  come  in,  darlint,  an'  let  us  get  a  sight  of  ye,  ye've 
got  a  swate  way  o'  spaking,  anyhow."  So  saying,  Biddy 
opened  the  door  wide,  and  the  child,  eying  her  timidly,  sidled 
into  the  hall. 

"  Why  need  you  trouble  yourself  to  bring  in  all  the  beg- 
gars out  o'  the  streets  ?"  said  the  cook,  as  Biddy  ushered  her 
protegee  into  the  room.  "  I  never  saw  nobody  like  you." 

The  child  looked  at  her  protectress,  thinking  it  was  a  pity 
there  wasn't  somebody  like  her,  and  Biddy  answered,  "  Sure 
now,  ye  wouldn't  be  afther  dhriving  such  a  wee  thing  as 


KATE    WESTON.  55 

that  away  from  your  door,  widout  giving  her  a  bit  of  bread 
when  she  axed  it.  Och,  but  ye  never  had  childher  o'  yer  own, 
an'  poor  soul,  how  should  ye  know  ?" 

"  You've  had  so  many  yourself,  Biddy,"  answered  that  lady 
contemptuously,  "that  you  know  a  sight  more  nor  I.  I've 
seen  enough  o'  the  little  impostors  that  run  about  the  streets 
lying  and  begging,  and  stealing,  too,  when  they  get  a  good 
chance.  Don't  talk  to  me,  I  know — I  know." 

This  was  said  with,  a  dignified  toss  of  the  head  and  wave 
of  the  hand,  intended  to  indicate  that  she  knew  more  than 
her  companion  was  capable  of  comprehending.  Biddy  only 
smiled,  and  drew  the  little  girl  to  a  seat  by  the  fire,  saying, 
"  Now  Ann,  won't  you  plaze  til  lave  me  to  meself,  and  let  me 
do  as  I  like,  so  long  as  I  don't  hurt  you.  Where  did  you 
come  out  of,  my  little  girl." 

"  I  came  out  of  a  cellar  in  Laurens  street,"  answered  she. 
"  It's  a  dreadful  place." 

"  And  how  did  ye  iver  come  til  git  there  ?"  asked  Biddy. 

"  Why,  I  was  sent  away  from  my  place,  and  couldn't  get 
another,  because  I  couldn't  show  a  recommendation.  Every- 
body said  I  told  falsehoods,  and  wouldn't  try  to  help  me." 

"  Where  are  your  father  and  mother  ?"  asked  the  cook. 

"  I  havn't  any  father,  and  I  can't  tell  where  my  mother's 
gone ;  she  went  away  from  me  before  I  went  to  my  place,  and 
I  never  saw  her  but  once  since." 

"  Oh,  a  likely  story,"  cried  the  cook ;  "  haven't  I  heard  all 
sorts  of  'em,  and  aVt  they  all  pretty  much  the  same  thing  ?  If 
you  are  fool  enough  to  believe  her,  I  an't." 

"  Well,  poor  thing,"  interposed  Biddy,  "  you  are  tired 
enough  til  rest  yourself  a  bit.  What  happened  til  you  to  be 
turned  out  o'  your  place  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  I  tried  hard  to  do 
everything,  and  they  just  called  me  ill  names,  and  sent  me 
away." 

The  cook  raised  both  hands,  and  opened  both  eyes  at  this 


56  KATE   WESTON. 

rare  piece  of  audacity,  while  Biddy  asked.  "  And  didn't  you 
git  your  wages  ?  What  did  you  do  wid  them  ?  Sure  they 
didn't  kape  them  from  you." 

"I  didn't  get  anything,  ma'am,  but  my  clothes,  and  an  odd 
shilling  now  and  then.  I  paid  all  I  had  to  a  woman  for  let- 
ting me  sleep  on  her  floor,  and  that's  where  I'm  going  now, 
only  I'm  so  hungry." 

"  Faith  now,  and  aren't  ye  ashamed  to  let  a  poor  thing  go 
away  from  ye,  and  her  only  axing  a  bit  o'  bread  ?  Ameriky's 
a  glorious  counthry,  but  there's  sorra  a  bit  of  compassion  in 
some  of  your  silfish  sowls."  As  Biddy  spoke,  she  walked 
towards  the  cupboard,  and  took  therefrom  a  large  piece  of 
bread,  some  butter,  and  a  bit  of  cheese,  then,  turning  to  the 
cook,  she  said,  "Come  now,  can't  ye  jist  show  a  body  that  it's 
yerself  can  be  a  little  gracious,  and  be  afther  gitting  a  bit  of 
the  cold  mate  ye  set  away  in  the  safe." 

The  opinion  Miss  Biddy  evidently  entertained  of  her  selfish- 
ness, by  no  means  tending  to  render  her  "gracious,"  she 
answered  shortly,  "  Not  a  bit  of  it  does  she  get,  the  little 
wretch.  Don't  I  know  she's  telling  me  lies  as  fast  as  she  can 
speak,  an'  don't  I  see  her  mother  waiting  out  on  the  sidewalk 
for  her  this  very  minute  ?" 

The  little  girl  cast  an  involuntary  glance  towards  the  win- 
dow. A  female  figure  stood  leaning  against  the  railing,  with 
her  face  veiled,  and  the  gas-light  from  the  sidewalk  shining 
full  upon  her  form. 

"  It  is  my  mother !"  cried  the  child,  dashing  for  the  door, 
with  a  wild  look  upon  her  face  that  was  easily  mistaken  for 
fear,  and  hurrying  into  the  hall. 

"  Not  so  fast,"  said  the  cook,  grasping  her  roughly  by  the 
arm,  "  I  want  to  know  where  your  mother  is  now  ?  Thomas, 
Thomas." 

The  tone  and  manner  frightened  the  child  more  than  the 
words,  and  she  burst  out  crying,  calling  ':  Mother— Mother," 
while  the  sleepy  coachman,  thus  appealed  to  by  his  wife,  raised 


KATE    WESTON.  57 

himself  up,  scratching  his  head,  and  grumbling  "Wh-wh-what 
the  d-d-deuce  is  all  this  noise  about  ?  C-c-can't  ye  leave  a 
feller  alone  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  parlor  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Dunn 
called  over  the  stairs,  "  What  confusion  is  that,  Ann  ?  Who's 
calling  '  mother '  so  loud  ?" 

"  Please,  sir,  it's  a  little  liar,  that  Biddy's  brought  in  from 
the  street,  and  I'm  holding  onto  her  for  a  minute." 

"Just  bring  her  up  here,  and  I'll  lecture  her.  These  con- 
founded beggars  thumping  at  the  door  every  hour  in  the  day." 

It  didn't  occur  to  the  gentleman  to  ask  himself  how  many 
of  the  trade  it  was  his  business  each  year  to  turn  upon  the 
streets,  although,  if  the  record  were  kept  faithfully  in  Heaven, 
their  names  were  neither  few  nor  far  between. 

Ann  pushed  the  sobbing  child  before  her  up  the  stairs, 
while  Bridget  followed  in  her  wake,  and  Thomas,  sinking  back 
upon  his  lounge,  muttered  to  himself  that  it  was  c-c-co-con- 
founded  p-p-provoking  to  have  a  young  w-w-wagabon'  a' 
waking  on  him  up." 

As  Mr.  Dunn  looked  at  the  culprit,  Edward,  who  was  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  noticed  the  same  shadow  that  he  had 
seen  once  before  that  evening  flit  suddenly  over  his  face.  For 
some  reason  or  other,  he  neither  "  lectured "  the  child,  nor 
censured  Bridget,  simply  asking  why  she  came  to  be  out  so 
late.  But  thai  was  not  strange.  Few  persons  of  any  dis- 
cernment could  look  at  the  young,  sad  face,  and  not  feel  that 
her  lot,-  be  what  it  might,  was  a  hard  one.  Young  Clarence 
thought  so  as  he  watched  the  great  tears  falling  upon  her 
tattered  dress,  and  he  stepped  forward  into  the  hall. 

"Let  me  go  to  my  mother,"  cried  she.  " Oh  dear,  I'm  sure 
she  will  be  gone,  and  she  doesn't  know  I  am  here."  She 
burst  out  in  fresh  sobs  to  the  apparent  gratification  of  the 
cook,  and  discomfiture  of  the  laundress,  who  looked  indignantly 
upon  the  whole  company,  inwardly  condemning  what  she  con- 
sidered their  undisguised  cruelty  and  injustice. 

3* 


58  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  did  not  know  your  mother 
was  outside  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dunn,  casting  a  troubled  glance 
towards  the  child. 

"  I  never  knew  a  word  of  it ;  I  didn't  indeed,  sir ;"  cried  she, 
"  won't  you  please  let  me  go  to  her  ?" 

Edward  stepped  to  the  door  with  a  vague  idea  that  her 
story  might  be  true,  although  it  certainly  appeared  quite 
improbable.  The  figure  was  just  starting  from  the  walk,  when 
he  called  out,  "  Here,  my  good  woman,  your  daughter's  crying 
for  you." 

She  turned  suddenly  round,  and  .fixed  upon  him  a  gaze  of 
fierce  scrutiny  through  her  heavy  vail,  then,  seemingly  satisfied 
with  her  observation,  stepped  up  to  the  door,  and  looked  into 
the  hall. 

"  Mother !  mother !"  cried  the  child,  springing  towards  her, 
"where  have  you  been  all  this  time?  I  thought  I  should 
die." 

For  a  moment  the  dark  eyes  beneath  the  vail  were  riveted 
on  Mr.  Dunn,  then  the  head  was  turned  so  that  he  could  not 
see  her  face,  while  she  merely  took  the  hand  of  her  daughter, 
saying,  "  Come  away,  child,  I  didn't  Enow  where  to  find  you," 
and  turning  away,  drew  her  down  the  steps,  and  out  into  the 
street. 

The  party  in  the  hall  were  too  much  astonished  to  follow, 
but  Edward,  as  though  struck  with  a  sudden  fancy,  came 
out  after  her.  "Here,  wait  a  minute,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

The  woman  came  back,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
with  her  face  turned  partly  away,  with  an  air  of  some  impa- 
tience, as  though  anxious  to  be  gone. 

"  lias  your  daughter  been  with  you  to-day  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  with  utter  indifference. 

"  Didn't  you  know  she  was  here  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

"  Did  you  say  you  hadn't  seen  her  at  all  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  59 

"  Not  to-day,"  a  little  impatiently. 

"  And  can't  she  work  at  anything  to  keep  her  out  of  the 
streets  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  she  can,  and  has ;  and  if  people  hadn't  hearts 
like  stones,  she  wouldn't  have  been  here  to-night."  This 
with  a  little  quick  stamp  of  her  foot  upon  the  pavement. 

"  Tell  me  your  story,  my  good  woman,"  said  Edward,  con- 
siderably interested  in  the  strange  couple.  "  I  have  a  sister 
who  has  commissioned  me  to  find  a  girl  of  that  age  to  tend 
her  baby,  and  if  she  can  obtain  a  recommendation,  I  may  try 
her." 

"  The  woman  looked  eagerly  up  into  the  handsome,  manly 
face,  then  turned  her  own  quickly  away,  saying,  "  If  you 
would  come,  sir,  to-morrow,  to  see  me  —  if  you  would, 
sir" 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,"  said  Edward,  "  upon  my  word.  Where 
do  you  live  ?" 

She  whispered  a  moment  to  the  child,  and  answered,  "  At 
Laurens  street,  sir,  in  the  basement." 

"  And  who  shall  I  ask  for  ?"  said  he. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  answered,  still  averting 
her  face,  "  Ask  for  Sarah  Collins,  sir,"  and  walked  quickly 
away. 

Mr.  Dunn  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  the  cook  turned  up 
her  nose  and  puckered  up  her  mouth,  Biddy  surveyed  the 
party  with  a  complacent  smile,  and  Miss  Araminta  retreated 
into  the  parlor,  thinking  to  herself  that  it  was  not  strange  for 
Mr.  Clarence  to  make  such  an  appointment,  knowing  so  little 
as  he  did  about  the  ways  of  the  city,  and  "  after  all,  he  was 
only  a  farmer's  son." 

u  What  did  the  child  tell  you  ?"  said  Edward,  closing  the 
street  door,  and  turning  to  the  servants. 

"  Why,  she  told  us  a  pack  of  lies,  sir,"  said  Ann,  tossing 
her  head,  "  about  being  in  a  place,  and  not  seeing  her  mother 
for  a  year,  and  getting  turned  off  for  nothing  at  all,  and 


60  KATE    WESTON. 

being  abused  into  the  bargain.  And  said  she  hadn't  seen  her 
mother  since,  the  little  hussy,  when  the  woman  only  said  her- 
self, she  hadn't  seen  her  before  to-day." 

"  Och,  sir,"  cried  Biddy,  glancing  indignantly  at  the  cook, 
"  but  the  little  sowl  was  half  dead  wid  the  hunger  and  fatague, 
an'  niver  a  body  but  could  aisy  say  that  same,  barrin'  they 
hadn't  Christian  hearts  in  their  bodies.  Whin  she  sated  her- 
self at  the  fire,  she  seemed  starvin'  intirely  wid  the  cold,  but 
she  got  sprighted  up  a  bit,  whin  she  was  afther  gitting  warm, 
sir." 

Ann,  who  was  mightily  provoked  at  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken,  stalked  by  her  complacent  companion  with  an  air  of 
the  most  emphatic  contempt,  muttering  something  about 
"Paddies,"  and  "simpletons,"  and  "impertinence,"  the  drift 
of  which  Biddy  neither  caught  nor  cared  for,  while  Edward 
and  his  host  went  to  join  Miss  Minnie  in  the  parlor." 

When  the  .mother  left  the  door,  she  walked  hurriedly  on, 
still  grasping  the  hand  of  the  child,  and  not  speaking  a  word 
till  they  were  in  a  narrow,  lonely  street  where  nobody  was 
passing.  Then  she  sat  down  on  a  step,  and  drew  the  child  to 
her  bosom,  sobbing  and  quivering  till  the  little  girl  was  actu- 
ally frightened.  "  Mother,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Please  don't 
cry  so ;  and  I'm  so  glad  you've  found  me.  I  Avas  almost 
starved,"  she  sobbed,  putting  her  arms  about  her  mother's 
neck.  "  I'm  very  hungry  now." 

"  If  you  had  starved  at  his  door !"  The  woman  twitched 
her  head  nervously,  and  lifting  her  child  in  her  arms,  hurried 
on  to  the  nearest  bakery.  The  array  of  biscuit  and  cake 
looked  very  tempting  to  little  Maggie,  as  the  mother  drew  the 
vail  closely  over  her  face,  and  left  her  to  enter  the  store. 
When  she  returned,  she  thrust  a  large  bun  into  the  hand  of 
the  child,  and,  drawing  her  again  into  a  retired  place,  took 
her  upon  her  lap,  and  watched  her  as  she  ate,  while  burning 
tears  rolled  down  the  mother's  cheeks,  and  more  burning 
drops  were  seething  in  her  heart. 


KATE   WESTON.      -  61 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Edward  Clarence  visited  the  place  designated,  in 
Laurens  street,  on  the  following  day,  he  found  the  little  girl 
neatly  dressed,  with  her  hair  smoothly  combed  and  curled, 
and  a  new  pair  of  shoes  upon  her  feet.  He  had  been  think- 
ing all  day  of  the  singular  circumstances  under  which  they 
had  visited  the  house  on  the  previous  evening,  and  his  interest 
was  not  at  all  lessened  at  seeing  her  thus  metamorphosed  into 
a  very  interesting,  dark-eyed  child,  with  waving  curls,  and  a 
face  that  bore  the  impress  of  a  thoughtful,  earnest  soul 
within. 

Her  mother  was  not  there  when  he  first  entered,  so  he 
commenced  a  conversation  with  the  child,  inquiring  of  her 
with  regard  to  her  former  life,  what  she  was  capable  of  doing, 
and  endeavoring  to  ascertain  if  it  would  be  expedient  for  him 
to  take  her  out  to  his  sister.  She  answered  him  with  a  sim- 
plicity that  quite  convinced  him  of  her  truthfulness,  telling 
the  same  story  that  she  had  told  Biddy  on  the  previous 
evening.  Still,  it  was  unaccountable,  the  fact  of  her  having 
been  turned  from  her  place,  for  she  knew  not  what,  and  that 
when. she  had  always  endeavored  to  do  her  duty.  It  was 
hardly  safe,  either,  to  pick  up  a  child  out  of  the  streets,  with- 
out any  recommendation..  But  then,  he  reflected,  if  she  were 
hardened  and  unprincipled,  she  would  have  concealed  the 
truth  from  him  with  regard  to  their  sending  her  away  in  such 
a  disgraceful  manner. 

He  watched  her  narrowly  as  she  answered  his  questions ; 


62  KATE    WKSTON. 

but  could  not  catch  the  slightest  indication  or  consciousness 
of  guilt. 

"  Haven't  you  any  one  to  whom  you  could  apply  for  refer- 
ence, child  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  know  of  anybody,  sir.  Nobody  knows  me  but 
them." 

"  And  where  is  your  mother  ?     She  was  to  be  here,  too." 

"  She  said,  I  had  better  see  you  first." 

"  Isn't  she  coming  at  all  then  ?"  said  Edward,  a  little  sur- 
prised. 

The  child  hesitated,  and  looked  timidly  into  his  face. 

"  Come  now,"  said  he,  beginning  to  suspect  some  double- 
dealing,  "  what  did  she  tell  you  to  say  ?" 

"  Why  sir,"  she  answered  reluctantly,  "  she  told  me  to  tell 
you  to  please  try  me,  but  she  would  rather  you" —  Here  she 
hesitated  again,  and  turned  quite  red. 

"Would  rather  what?"  said  he,  quite  astonished. 

"Why  she  didn't  like  much, — that  is,  she  thought," — 
stammered  the  child. 

"  Thought  what,  child  ?"  cried  he,  with  a  little  impatience. 
"  Speak  out, — don't  be  afraid.  I  shall  be  a  great  deal  more 
likely  to  take  you,  if  you  tell  me  the  whole  truth." 

"  Thought  she  had  better  not  see  you,  but  she  didn't  want 
me  to  tell  you  that, — Oh  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?"  Here  the 
little  girl  burst  into  tears,  and  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face. 

"  Are  you  afraid  she  will  whip  you  ?"  said  he,  still  more 
astonished. 

"  Oh  no,  sir !"  cried  the  child,  sobbing  violently,  "  she  never 
does  that." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  crying  for  then  ?" 

"  She  said  that  if  I  told  you  that,  you  wouldn't  take  me ; — 
but  I  couldn't  help  it— Oh  dear— Oh  dear !" 

"  Can't  she  take  care  of  you,  then  ?  She  has  brought  you 
plenty  of  good  clothes  in  a  very  short  time.  I  don't  under- 
stand it." 


KATE    WESTON.  63 

"  Oh  no,  sir,"  sobbed  the  child ;  "  won't  you  please  take  me ; 
I  will  be  so  good — please  try  me,  just  please." 

"  Why  can't  she  take  care  of  you  ?"  asked  Edward.  "Can't 
she  work  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,  sir,"  was  her  answer.  "  I  don't  know  why, 
she  didn't  tell  me,  but  she  can't,  she  said  she  couldn't.  Indeed 
she  cavHt,  anyhow.  Please  try  me." 

This  was  said  so  appealingly,  that  Edward's  curiosity  and 
interest  were  raised  to  the  highest  pitch.  He  sat  thinking  for 
some  minutes,  then  turned  to  the  child  and  asked  her  the 
residence  of  her  late  employer.  "Tell  me,  my  little  girl, 
said  he  soothingly,  as  she  continued  sobbing,  "and  if  they 
have  done  you  injustice,  it  shall  make  no  difference  with  me. 
I  will  go  and  see  them,  and  come  again  to  let  you  know  the 
result." 

As  he  spoke,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  when  a  small  door  at 
the  back  of  the  room  opened,  and  a  woman  rushed  towards 
him.  He  knew  by  the  figure  that  it  was  the  same  he  had 
seen  on  the  previous  evening, — but  the  face !  Bloated,  hag- 
gard, bearing  the  mark  of  intemperance  and  guilt.  Eyes  wild 
and  fierce,  forehead  seamed  with  the  impress  of  grief  and  dis- 
sipation, and  a  restlessness  in  every  motion  that  told  too 
plainly  of  peace  destroyed  for  ever.  She  stood  up  before  her 
visitor  with  those  great  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  her  breath 
coming  and  going,  while  she,  apparently,  possessed  no  power 
to  speak.  He  began  to  doubt  her  sanity,  but  she  spoke,  at 
last,  with  a  violent  effort. 

"  You  must  not  go,  sir ;  they  would  tell  you  the  truth,  and 
you  would  never  return  again.  As  I  live  under  heaven,  /  will 
tell  you  the  truth,  and  the  God  who  reigns  above  us  will  bless 
you  if  you  save  my  child.  Maggie,"  said  she,  addressing  the 
child,  "  come  here."  She  drew  back  the  curls  from  the  child- 
ish forehead,  "  Does  that  look,  sir,  as  though  guilt  or  false- 
hood had  left  its  stain  upon  her  ?  Oh  sir,  by  all  that  you  hold 
pure  and  good,  by  the  mother  who  nursed  you,  by  the  sisters 


64  KATE    WESTON. 

who  watch  for  you,  by  the  fair  girl  whose  love  you  are  hoping 
for,  do  not  go  without  taking  my  child.  See  here,  sir." 

She  opened  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered,  and  pointed 
to  a  dark  damp  room  within.  "  There  was  where  I  found  her 
staying,  with  eight  women  and  children  around  her,  and  not  a 
morsel  to  keep  her  from  starving;  and  she  must  come  to 
worse  than  that,  unless  some  hand  is  put  out  to  save  her.  Sit 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story."  She  spoke  rapidly,  without 
stopping  for  a  moment,  as  though  fearful,  if  she  should,  of 
being  unable  to  resume. 

"  Two  birds  built  their  nest  in  a  green  tree.  The  sunlight 
fell  upon  it,  the  sweet  air  blew  around  it.  There  was  plenty 
of  food  and  drink,  and  the  birds  sang  merrily  all  the  day  long. 
They  made  a  feathery  lining  for  their  nest,  so  that  none  of 
the  Mrds  about  had  as  pleasant  a  habitation  as  they.  By-and- 
by  two  little  fledgelings  filled  their  parents  with  rejoicing. 
They  fluttered  over  them,  sang  their  sweetest  songs,  and 
brought  the  softest  feathers  for  them.  The  father  flew  away 
for  food,  and  the  mother  fed  them,  chirping  for  joy,  and  hover- 
ing always  over  them. 

"  But  the  spoiler  came.  An  evil  bird  one  day  destroyed  the 
father.  The  mother  waited  and  waited,  but  he  did  not  come. 
She  could  find  no  food  for  her  fledgelings,  and  one  of  them 
died.  At  last  the  slayer  of  her  mate  came,  and  charmed  her 
with  his  fierce  eye  away  from  her  desolate  nest.  The  fledge- 
ling went  too,  but  when  they  were  in  a  desert-place,  her 
enemy  flew  away,  and  left  her  there  with  drooping  wings  and 
wounded  heart. 

•  "  Perhaps  if  she  had  been  left  alone,  she  would  have  recov- 
ered. But  other  enemies  came.  They  gave  her  poisoned 
water  to  drink,  they  picked  away  her  feathers,  they  tore  and 
bruised  her  sadly,  until  the  poor  wanderer  lay,  bleeding  and 
quivering,  without  the  power  to  stir.  All  this  time  the  little 
bird  had  been  getting  larger  and  prettier.  The  wings  were 
growing  strong,  the  feathers  were  white  and  downy,  and  the 


KATE    WESTON.  65 

little  throat  now  and  then  tried  to  warble  a  simple  strain. 
But  when  the  mother  was  bruised  so  badly,  she  thought  hei 
little  one  must  die.  There  was  nobody  to  feed  her,  and  the 
birds  of  prey  began  to  look  with  baleful  eyes  upon  her. 
Then  a  friendly  hand  was  stretched  out  to  save  her,  and  she 
was  taken  away  from  her  mother.  The  poor  sick  bird  cried 
piteously  after  her  fledgeling,  but  was  glad  to  let  it  go  where 
it  could  have  food  and  care. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  that  she  stayed  away,  but  at  last  she 
wanted  to  see  it  so  much  that  she  fluttered  to  its  new  home, 
and  all  loathsome  and  diseased,  with  her  feathers  torn-  away, 
and  her  eyes  red  and  fiery,  fell  quivering  down  beside  it. 
She  only  stayed  for  a  little  while,  and  flew  away  again.  But 
they  saw  her  there,  and  hated  her,  and  so  thrust  the  little 
white  dove,  pure  and  beautiful  as  it  was,  away  from  them. 
She  went  out,  scarcely  fledged,  chirping  with  terror  and  hunger 
• — to  struggle,  and — to  die." 

The  woman  stopped  for  a  moment,  then  throwing  herself 
before  him,  she  cried  in  anguish  of  spirit,  "Let  it  be  your 
hand  that  shall  rescue  her !  Rum  and  the  rumseller  have 
been  my  ruin.  No  voice  censures  them.  But  the  finger  of 
scorn,  the  hiss  of  contempt, — the  biting  taunt, — the  fire  that 
is  eating  out  my  life, — are  all  for  me !  For  me — their  victim,— 
their  slave !  But  for  them,  I  should  have  been  able  to  look 
proudly  upon  a  husband  and  two  beautiful  children,  to  nurse 
them  and  care  for  them,  and  hold  them  to  my  bosom  as  hap- 
pier mothers  do. 

"  But  all  are  gone — all  but  this  one,  and  she — the  last  bright 
thing  on  earth, — I  must  thrust  from  me,  that  she  may  escape 
the  vortex  down  which  I  am  whirling  with  no  hope,  no 
remedy,  no  friend.  And  I  swear  to  you  by  Heaven,  she  is 
free  from  stain  as  the  lily  of  summer.  I  have  guarded  her 
from  pollution,  shut  her  out  from  my  guilt  and  shame,  kept 
her  always  where  she  could  learn  that  alone  that  was  true  and 
pure,  hoping  ever,  if  such  as  I  have  any  right  to  hope,  that 


66  KATE   WESTON. 

the  day  of  her  rescue  would  come.  I  promise  you,"  cried  she, 
falling  on  her  knees,  and  clasping  her  hands,  "  I  will  never 
see  her  more.  Take  her  with  you.  Deny  me  not.  God  has 
sent  you  here.  I  knew  it  when  I  saw  the  pitying  smile  upon 
your  face  last  night  Father  in  Heaven — save  my  child ! 

Her  voice  had  been  gradually  rising  with  the  intensity  of 
her  emotion,  until  the  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  wild  shriek, 
as  though  her  heart  went  out  in  that  brief  prayer.  She  knelt 
there  with  hands  clasped,  and  face  up-turned,  while  for  the 
moment,  the  tenderness  of  a  mother's  affection  shone  from  the 
fierce  eyes,  and  the  guilty  woman's  tears  streamed  over  a  face 
disfigured  with  drunkenness  and  vice. 

Edward  had  listened  earnestly,  with  alternate  emotions  of 
pity  and  indignation.  As  she  concluded,  he  drew  his  hand 
rapidly  across  his  eyes.  He  did  not  speak  directly,  for  he 
could  not  trust  his  voice,  but  he  looked  over  to  where  the 
child  stood  crying,  half  terrified  at  her  mother's  manner,  and 
back  again  to  the  woman  kneeling  there.  At  length  he  said, 

"  I  will  take  her  with  me,  and  do  what  I  can  for  her.  But 
do  not  go  back  again  to  your  wretched  life.  There  is  an 
asylum  for  such  as  you.  Take  refuge  there,  I  entreat  you. 
Mr.  Dunn  will  use  his  influence." 

A  fierce  glance  of  scorn  shot  over  the  softened  face,  and 
she  sprang  to  her  feet.  Then,  as  though  stopped  by  a  sudden 
thought,  she  dropped  her  eyelashes,  bit  her  lip  till  the  blood 
almost  came,  and  stood  for  some  moments  evidently  struggling 
hard  with  some  violent  emotion. 

"  You  would  be  happy  again,"  resumed  the  young  man,  "  if 
you  left  all  your  sins  behind,  and  took  refuge  where  they 
could  not  follow  you." 

"  Never,  never,  in  this  world  or  the  next.  I  am  past  par- 
don— past  pardon,"  and  she  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  And 
yet,  there  are  those  who  will  have  a  heavier  account  than 
mine  to  render — those  who  made  me  what  I  am — those  who 
make  thousands  such  as  I — those  for  whom  both  task  and 


KATE    WESTON.  67 

pastime  are  to  crowd  felons  and  murderers  into  our  prisons, 
to  drive  men  and  women  mad,"  here  she  laughed  wildly,  and 
beat  her  hand  upon  her  forehead,  "  to  fit  them  for  the  pit  of 
perdition  to  which  they  are  driving  them  by  hundreds,  and 
thousands,  and  millions.  And  there  is  no  hand  to  save,  no 
voice  to  plead  for  their  salvation.  Why  don't  you  make  laws, 
and  drive  the  demon  from  our  land  ?  You'll  let  them  go  on 
for  ever,  flattering  their  victims  into  hell,  while  you  talk  about 
slavery  and  no  slavery,  war  and  no  war,  and  never  raise  a 
finger  to  put  down  the  master-tyrant  of  the  world,  that  en- 
slaves more  freemen,  and  destroys  more  bodies  and  souls  than 
all  the  tyrants  that  ever  lived.  The  day  will  come  for  your 
punishment.  When  the  blackness  of  darkness  shall  close 
around  you,  when — no",  I  can  never  be  saved — do  not  ask  me 
— there  now — take  her — God  will  bless  you  for  it — leave  me 
to  my  wretchedness." 

She  clasped  her  child  suddenly  in  one  quick  embrace, 
placed  her  before  her  new  protector,  and  darted  into  the  street, 

Edward,  startled  at  her  wild  earnestness,  and  believing 
from  the  incoherency  of  her  last  words  that  reason  was  wan- 
dering, started  after  her,  but  before  he  reached  the  street  she 
was  out  of  sight.  He  looked  up  and  down,  but  deeming  it 
useless  to  search  for  her  where  so  many  alleys  and  cellars 
afforded  her  a  refuge,  he  returned  to  the  child. 

She  stood  weeping  bitterly  where  her  mother  had  left  her. 
He  could  with  difficulty  keep  back  his  own  tears  as  he  took 
her  by  the  hand,  and,  calling  her  by  the  name  he  had  heard 
her  mother  use,  strove  to  soothe  her. 

"  Maggie  dear,  don't  cry,  you  shall  be  taken  better  care  of 
than  ever  you  were  before.  Here  are  two  shillings  for  you  if 
you  won't  cry,  and  you  shall  go  for  a  nice  ride  with  me  to~ 
morrow." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  succeeded  in  quieting  her,  and 
then  he  began  to  think  how  he  should  dispose  of  her  until  the 
following  day. 


68  KATE    \VESTON. 

"  Do  you  know  of  anybody  you  could  stay  with  to-night?" 
he  asked,  "  anywhere  but  here." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  child ;  "  Sally  Clark  keeps  board- 
ers sometimes."  % 

"  And  where  does  Sally  Clark  live  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Just  round  the  corner,  sir,"  said  she,  still  sobbing. 

"  Well,  I  will  go  with  you  and  see,"  said  Edward,  pushing 
her  gently  before  him,  and  ascending  the  steps  into  the  street. 

As  they  turned  the  corner,  the  child  pointed  him  to  a 
shabby-looking  house,  over  the  door  of  which  a  piece  of 
painted  tin  gave  notice,  in  very  large  letters,  that  "  Boarding 
and  Lodging  "  were  to  be  obtained  within.  A  dingy  brass 
knocker  corresponded  with  a  green  door,  scratched  and  bat- 
tered with  hard  usage,  and  a  pair  of 'very  dirty  curtains  at 
the  front  windows  formed  a  pretty  correct  index  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  landlady. 

Sally  Clark  came  to  the  door  to  answer  the  knock,  and 
was  very  civil  indeed  when  she  saw  Maggie  in  the  company 
of  so  spruce  a  looking  gentleman. 

"  Walk  in,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  she,  "  and  what  would 
you  like  to  have  ?" 

"  Can  you  accommodate  this  little  girl  for  to-night  ?"  said 
he,  looking  inquisitively  at  the  little  room  into  which  he  was 
invited  to  enter. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  please  to  walk  in  here  to  the 
fire." 

He  complied  with  the  invitation  on  the  child's  account,  and, 
although  not  much  pleased  with  the  appearance  of  things,  he 
concluded  to  leave  her  there  for  that  night,  and  to  call  for  her 
on  the  following  morning,  when  about  leaving  New  York  for 
his  home  in  Laconia. 


KATE    WESTON.  69 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Music  and  mirth.  White  satin  and  blue  tarletan  floating 
over  the  floor,  black  velvet  aud  green  brocade  reclining  on  the 
sofa.  Fairy  feet  peeping  out  from  trailing  skirts,  and  less 
graceful  ones  carefully  concealed  beneath  their  folds.  Mous- 
taches of  every  curve  and  color,  false  calves  of  unexceptiona 
ble  mould,  kid  gloves  of  the  daintiest  white,  vests  and  coats 
of  the  latest  fashion,  displaying  to  the  best  advantage  the 
grace  of  Brother  Jonathan,  simpering  to  pretty  girls  in  crape 
and  flowers,  and  the  awkwardness  of  Uncle  Sain,  talking  poli- 
tics to  would-be-blues  in  velvet  and  feathers.  Hair  dressed  in 
every  mode,  from  a  la  Grecque  to  a  la  Parisienne,  and  every 
mouth  smiling  just  enough  to  exhibit  a  row  of  beautiful  teeth, 
from  the  excellent  set  made  to  order  for  buxom  Mrs.  Ileze- 
kiah  Pillipin  fanning  herself  in  the  corner,  to  the  row  of 
exquisite  pearls  gleaming  from  the  lips  of  Miss  Araminta  Dunn 
tripping  over  the  floor. 

Gaslight  streaming  upon  the  flowers  budding  on  the  carpet, 
the  little  figures  of  ormolu,  the  alabaster  vases,  the  beautiful 
faces  and  graceful  forms,  bathing  them  all  in  brilliant  beauty. 
Music  swelling  through  the  room  from  harp  and  violin  ;  light 
figures  gliding  swiftly  to  the  lively  measure.  Daughters  flirt- 
ing atrociously  with  brainless  fops,  and  mothers  looking  on 
with  admiring  eyes.  All  this  upon  the  surface.  How  much 
beneath  is  not  for  us  to  know.  How  many  jealousies,  hatreds, 
and  heartaches,  but  more,  perhaps,  than  even  a  misanthrope 
believes. 

"Miss   Araminta    looks   charmingly   to-night,"   said  Mrs. 


70  KATE    WESTON. 

Pillipin  to  Mr.  Dunn,  as  ho  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  beside 
her. 

Now  Mrs.  Pillipin  being  a  stout  and  wealthy  widow,  the 
upper  tendom  of  New  York  had  set  her  down  as  an  excellent 
match  for.  Mr.  Dunn,  an  opinion  in  which  the  lady  herself 
concurred,  to  the  no  small  discomfiture  of  that  gentleman, 
who,  unconscious  of  any  design  upon  his  devoted  head,  con- 
sidered the  profusion  of  smiles  and  compliments  lavished  upon 
him  by  the  coquettish  widow  as  entirely  superfluous  and  un- 
called for. 

"  I  may  say  the  same  of  your  daughter,"  answered  the  gen- 
tleman ;  "  Miss  Pillipin  looks  uncommonly  well  this  even- 
ing." 

The  lady  thought  he  might  as  well  have  made  it  Mrs.  Pilli- 
pin, but  she  contented  herself  with  remarking — 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  Malvina  looks  very  well,  except  that 
she  appears  so  much  older  than  she  is.  Why,  would  you  be- 
lieve it,  she  is  scarcely  seventeen,  and  I'm  sure  she  looks 
twenty.  But,  dear  me,  how  young  you  are  looking  yourself, 
Mr.  Dunn.  I  declare  you  do  resemble  so  much  my  poor,  un- 
fortunate husband,  and  he  was  called  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  in  New  Orleans.  I  never  see  you  without  recalling  him 
to  my  memory." 

The  lady's  glance  of  admiration  was  utterly  lost  upon  her 
auditor,  who  bowed  slightly  in  acknowledgment  of  the  com- 
pliment, but  did  not  answer  her.  Just  at  that  moment,  Ed- 
ward stepped  out  to  dance  with  Miss  Malvina,  and  the  de- 
lighted mother  exclaimed, 

"  Pray  who  is  that  young  gentleman,  Mr.  Dunn  ?  I  do  so 
admire  his  manner ;  very  much  like  your  own,  indeed ;  so 
graceful  and  gentlemanly." 

"  He  is  a  young  man  studying  medicine  in  the  country  with 
an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Dunn,  "•  out  at  Laconia,  where 
I  spend  the  summer.  I  took  quite  .1  fancy  to  him  when  I 
first  went  out  there,  and  he  often  drops  in  to  pay  me  a  visit." 


KATE    WESTON.  71 

"  He  has  not  completed  his  studies,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Pilli- 
pin,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  pair. 

"  No,  madam,"  he  rejoined,  "  he  is  " —  Just  at  this  instant 
a  stout,  red-faced  little  gentleman,  with  brass  buttons  upon  a 
blue  coat,  waddled  suddenly  up  to  them,  looking  extremely 
pleased  and  pleasable.  « 

"  Mrs.  Pillipin,"  said  he,  "  do  you  never  dance  ?" 

The  lady  interrogated  having  a  decided  tendency  to  dropsy, 
and  weighing  some  two  hundred  pounds,  replied,  with  a  sim- 
per, 

"  Never,  myself,  sir ;  I  leave  that  for  my  daughter.  In- 
deed, we  who  have  daughters  to  chaperon  in  the  fashionable 
world,  enjoy  a  privilege  that  you  less  fortunate  bachelors  can 
scarcely  appreciate." 

"  No  Ma'am,"  said  the  rosy-nosed  gentleman,  nodding  his 
head  several  times  in  succession,  "  not  at  all,  Ma'am.  Can't 
say  I'm  partial  to  single  life,  Ma'am.  Can't  say  it's  altogether 
my  fault,  that  I'm  a  bachelor,  Ma'am.  Some  ladies  are  very 
hard-hearted,  Ma'am.  You  must  know  that  by  yourself, 
Ma'am  ;  that  is,  in  some  particular  cases,  Ma'am ;  now  you 
can't  deny  that,  Ma'am." 

Mrs.  Pillipin  neither  could  nor  would  deny  anything  of  the 
kind,  for  the  phizes  of  numberless  admirers  of  her  maiden 
charms,  and  the  forms  of  a  superannuated  navy  officer,  a  cor- 
pulent alderman,  and  a  fortune-hunting  .German  nobleman, 
who  had  respectively  laid  hand  and  heart  at  the  feet  of  the 
ladj-millionaire,  rose  like  ghosts  to  hinder  the  perpetration  of 
any  such  falsehood ;  so  the  lady  smirked,  and  simpered,  and 
smiled,  very  much  to  the  amusement  of  Edward,  who  was 
watching  the  mother  of  his  siren  from  the  opposite  cor- 
ner. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Dunn,  "  you  will  bid  farewell  to  the 
fraternity  some  day.  You  bachelors  do  have  a  sorry  time  of 
it  with  the  ladies.  Let  them  be  ever  so  hard-hearted,  it  is 
only  natural  that  they  should  feel  indignant  at  seeing  one  of 


72  KATE    WESTON. 

your  class  remain  so  long  apparently  indifferent,  when  they 
know  so  well  the  power  and  variety  of  their  charms." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  answered  the  good-natured  bachelor,  put- 
ting his  white  kids  behind  him,  and  tetering  adroitly  back 
and  forth  upon  the  toes  of  his  pumps.  "  Perfectly  natural, 
sir.  Allow  me  to  say,  perfectly  right  too,  sir.  Hope  as  you 
say,  sir,  the  day  may  come  for  me  to  bid  farewell  to  the  fra- 
ternity. Nobody'd  be  half  so  glad  as  myself,  sir.  But  there's 
no  telling,  sir.  Depends  on  circumstances,  sir." 

Now  these  circumstances,  as  everybody  knew,  having  refer- 
ence to  a  certain  other  widow,  of  whom  the  widow  present 
was  mortally  jealous,  caused  this  widow  to  turn  up  her  nose 
at  thought  of  the  other  widow,  and  to  change  the  subject 
without  more  ado. 

"  How  is  trade  now,  Mr.  Pufton  ?"  she  asked,  looking  as 
though  extremely  interested  for  his  answer. 

"  Why,  Ma'am,"  he  answered,  planting  himself  firmly  again 
upon  his  feet,  "  none  of  the  briskest,  Ma'am.  Haven't  sold 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  this  year,  Ma'am. 
Sold  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  before  this  time 
last  year,  Ma'am.  Don't  know  how  it  is,  can't  account  for  it, 
Ma'am.  Don't  let  it  trouble  me ;  take  it  easy,  Ma'am.  That's 
my  advice." 

"  Oh,  you're  a  happy  soul,"  cried  Mrs.  Pillipin.  "  Well,  I 
consider  that  every  one  should  enjoy  life  as  far  as  possible-. 
Malvina,  my  dear." 

The  young  lady,  like  a  dutiful  daughter,  had  brought  her 
new  partner  for  an  introduction  to  her  mother.  The  cere- 
mony was  over  before  the  dumpy  gentleman  had  time  to  turn 
round,  but  he  no  sooner  laid  eyes  on  Edward,  than  he  pounced 
upon  him  with  ferocious  eagerness,  regardless  of  all  the  laws 
of  etiquette,  tearing  his  new  kid  glove  in  shaking  hands,  and 
actually  frisking  his  coat-tails  into  the  face  of  the  astonished 
Mrs.  Pillipin,  who  was  still  bowing  gracefully  to  her  new 
acquaintance. 


: 


>rVi    f-  W     ]  •      fv  •'•;"" 

1     >l    rev    :*--    F  ira*1 

' 


icgai UICBS  ui  ail  1110  iii\\>  ui  ciii^uciicr,  it  .11  jiiu  me  in  \\    MU  ^iu\c  in  niialvili^  llallUH.    illiu 

actually  frisking  his  coat-tails  into  the  face  of  the  astonished    Mrs.  Pillipin.   who  was 


still  bowing  gracefully  to  her  new  acquaintance, 


KATE    WESTON.  73 

"  My  dear  boy,  how  are  you  ?"  he  cried,  "  Ton  my  word 
now,  looking  more  like  a  man  than  ever.  How  3s  father,  eh  ? 
and  mother — and  pretty  Molly,  eh  ?  got  over  her  pet  at  my 
kissing  her?  ha — ha — ha — but  I'll  do  it  again,  yes,  I  will 
now." 

The  company  generally  understanding  Mr.  Pufton,  paid 
little  attention  to  that  gentleman's  abrupt  descent  upon  the 
young  stranger,  except  Miss  Malvina,  who  looked  extremely 
disconcerted  at  the  sudden  interruption,  but  thought  it  more 
amiable  to  simper,  "  Why,  Mr.  Pufton,  what  a  funny  man  you 
are !  Did  you  know  Mr.  Clarence  before  ?" 

"  Know  him  before  ?"  he  cried,  giving  his  kid  glove  another 
tear  in  the  delight  of  a  second  shake.  "  I  think  so,  my  dear. 
Known  him  a  good  many  years,  my  dear.  Capital  fellow ;  fine 
baby  was  Ned  Clarence,  and  a  tolerable  looking  chap  yet,  my 
dear,  quite  tolerable."  He  finished  with  a  little  satisfied  bob 
of  the  head,  evidently  meaning  that  he  considered  him  some- 
thing more  than  tolerable,  while  Mr.  Dunn  exclaimed : 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Pufton,  I  had  forgotten  entirely  that  you 
were  one  of  Mr.  Clarence's  earliest  friends." 

"  And  truest  friends,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pufton,  with  eyes  twink- 
ling in  an  ecstatic  manner.  Bless  my  heart,  boy,  I  think  as 
much  of  you  now  as  your  own  father  does,  you  know  I  do. 
Like  old  Higgins  as  well  as  ever  ?  He  likes  good  Madeira  well 
as  ever,  I'll  be  bound ;  that  is,  when  the  article  comes  already 
paid  for,  and  he  don't  take  enough  to  hurt  his  constitution, 
ha — ha — ha !"  Here  the  puffy  little  Mr.  Pufton  gave  Edward 
a  facetious  little  poke,  whereupon  Mrs.  Pillipin  rolled  up  her 
eyes  at  Mr.  Dunn,  Miss  Malvina  reiterated  her  assertion  with 
regard  to  his  being  "  such  a  funny  man,"  and  Edward  himself, 
although  a  little  abashed  at  finding  himself  the  object  of  con- 
siderable attention  from  the  company  around,  looked  and 
acted  highly  delighted  at  meeting  one  of  his  wannest  friends. 

At  this  moment  supper  was  announced,  and  Mr.  Dunn, 
slightly  bowing,  took  the  widow  on  his  arm,  while  Edward 


74  KATE    WESTON. 

followed  with  Miss  Pillipin,  leaving  Mr.  Pufton  to  escort  a 
lady  just  behind  them,  who  might  have  been  a  wax  figure  just 
modelled  in  Paris,  so  exquisite  was  the  tint  of  cheek  and  fore- 
head, so  elaborate  was  the  coiffure,  so  perfect  even  to  the 
falling  of  a  tassel  was  the  tout  ensemble  of  the  lady's  personal 
appearance. 

Mrs.  Morley  languished  into  the  supper-rooin  with  the  air 
of  a  drooping  lily,  while  her  rosy  companion  carried  his  fat  little 
body  upon  a  very  slender  pair  of  legs,  presenting  very  much 
the  appearance  of  an  apple  dumpling  upon  stilts.  But  then 
nobody  noticed  it.  The  fashionable  lady  herself  didn't  notice 
it»  Wasn't  Mr.  Pufton  the  comfortable  recipient  ef  some 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  per  annum,  and  hadn't  he  one  of  the 
largest  liquor-warehouses  in  New- York  ?  Mr.  Pufton  didn't 
notice  it.  He,  the  jolly  little  soul,  never  noticed  anything  in 
particular.  Nobody  could  imagine  how  he  had  made  his 
money,  for  he  never  thought  much  about  business  matters, 
although,  like  other  men,  he  was  fond  of  having  plenty  of 
money,  and  spending  it  as  fast  as  he  conveniently  could. 

He  had  always  been  a  bachelor,  not  because  he  did  not 
admire  ladies,  but  because  he  couldn't  win  ,  the  lady  he 
admired.  Having  waited  for  some  ten  years  after  first  pro- 
posing to  her,  his  hope  had  taken  a  sudden  bound  in  the 
event  of  her  becoming  a  widow.  But  now,  after  the  lapse  of 
four  years,  he  seemed  to  be  no  nearer  his  goal  than  before, 
for  the  lady,  although  sensible  enough  to  appreciate  his  many 
good  qualities,  remained  inexorable,  giving  him  no  encourage- 
ment whatever.  Mr.  Pufton  fell  in  love  with  all  the  pretty 
girls,  petting  and  kissing  them  precisely  as  he  would  have 
done  so  many  interesting  babies,  while  the  star  of  his  first 
love  never  waxed  pale  through  all  the  clouds  and  shadows 
that  hovered  ever  between  it  and  him. 

"  Here  is  a  seat,  Ma'am,"  said  he,  "  allow  me,"  and  he  placed 
it  nearly  as  possible  by  the  side  of  Miss  Malvina,  who  was 
standing  wedged  in  a  corner  among  a  posse  of  dandies  and 


KATE    WESTON.  15 

dolls,  all  chatting  and  laughing  together,  like  so  many  mag- 
pies fastened  in  a  cage.  "  Now  what  will  you  take,  Ma'am  ? 
Some  lobster-salad,  Ma'am,  or  pickled  oysters,  or  a  little  of  this 
boned  turkey  ?  All  very  good  to  appearance,  Ma'am." 

The  lady,  gasping  faintly  at  thought  of  the  possible  effect 
pickled  oysters  might  have  on  her  complexion,  preferred  a 
very  little  of  the  lobster-salad." 

Mrs.  Pillipin,  on  the  contrary,  deemed  it  inexpedient,  as  the 
various  luxuries  had  been  provided  for  the  express  purpose  of 
gratifying  her  taste,  to  let  the  opportunity  pass  without 
improving  it  to  the  full  extent  of  her  capacity.  Indeed,  the 
piquancy  of  the  viands  set  before  her  was  so  obviously  appre- 
ciated by  her,  that  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Morley,  of  Baltimore, 
set  her  down  in  her  own  mind  as  a  vulgar  upstart,  with  whom 
she  would  not  associate  on  any  terms  whatever. 

Edward,  notwithstanding  his  natural  self-possession,  felt 
a  little  awk.vard  in  the  present  company,  a  circumstance 
not  at  all  singular,  inasmuch  as  his  simple  country  code  of 
politeness  had  taught  him  to  prefer  others  before  himself, 
while  the  politeness  here  practised  seemed  to  consist  in  crowd- 
ing everybody  that  stood  in  everybody's  way,  and,  in  general, 
making  themselves,  and  their  partners  of  course,  as  comfort- 
able, and  every  one  else  as  uncomfortable  as  possible. 

Edward,  however,  was  not  in  the  least  troubled  from  his 
want  of  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  the  fashionable  world, 
for  Mr.  Pufton  did  the  work  of  both.  He  pushed,  and 
crowded,  and  trotted  backwards  and  forwards  from  the  ladies 
to  the  supper-table,  and  from  the  supper-table  to  the  ladies  in 
the  most  laudable  manner,  until  his  little  shiny  forehead  was 
quite  wet  with  perspiration,  and  his  little  rosy  nose  glowing 
like  a  very  purple  turnip-radish. 

"  Here  is  something  you  must  taste,  ladies,"  he  exclaimed, 
lugging  along  a  splendid  decanter,  and  followed  by  a  waiter 
who  managed  to  squeeze  along  a  silver  salver,  capable  of  con- 
taining three  or  four  glasses.  "  This  is  some  of  my  best  wine, 


76  KATE    WESTON. 

and  it  beats  Mr.  Dunn's  all  hollow.  Never  saw  anything  to 
equal  it.  Been  in  my  warehouse  cellar  twenty  years  and  over. 
Allow  me,  Ma'am."  He  poured  out  the  sparkling  beverage, 
offering  it  first  to  Mrs.  Morley,  then  to  Mrs.  Pillipin  and 
her  daughter,  then  to  Edward,  while  Mr.  Dunn  smilingly 
remarked, 

"Do  not  exult  too  much  over  me,  Pufton,  I  warrant  you 
my  brandy  as  far  exceeds  yours,  as  your  wine  goes  before 
mine.  You  know  I  never  like  to  play  second  fiddle,  even  to 
such  a  superior  importer  as  yourself.  I  think  you  said  trade 
hadn't  been  brisk  with  you  this  year." 

"  No  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pufton.  "  Not  at  all,  sir.  Never  saw  it 
so  dull,  sir.  Can't  account  for  it,  sir." 

"  It  has  been  directly  different  with  me.  I  have  cleared  full 
thirty  thousand  this  year,  above  all  expenses,  and  if  I  do 
not  make  it  fifty  before  the  year's  out,  I  shall  be  quite  dissatis- 
fied." 

"  Well,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Pufton,  "  it's  a  good  business,  sir, 
and  when  you  keep  the  best,  you  are  sure  to  succeed  in  it. 
I  wanted  Edward  here  to  enter  my  warehouse,  but  his  father, 
would  you  believe  it,  had  conscientious  scruples, — as  though 
it  would  hurt  him,  sir." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Edward,  "you  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Pufton. 
That  waS  not  the  ground  on  which  my  father's  objection  rested. 
He  considered  the  free  use  of  wine  an  evil,  and  consequently 
thought  it  inconsistent  to  allow  me  to  sell  it.  He  never 
imagined  that  any  injury  would  result  to  me  from  entering 
your  warehouse." 

"And  you  think  it  an  evil,  too,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Pufton, 
glancing  at  Edward's  untasted  wine.  "  Now,  my  dear  boy,  I 
beg  of  you  not -to  be  fanatical  upon  this  subject.  People  will 
think  you  quite  a  baby,  if  you  are  afraid  to  take  an  innocent 
glass  of  wine,  for  fear  you  won't  be  able  to  stop  until  you  are 
tipsy.  They  will  indeed,  won't  they  Ma'am  ?" 

Mrs.  Morley,  to  whom  this  question  was  addressed,  bowed 


KATE    \VESTON.  77 

languidly,  while  Mrs.  Pillipin,  who  had  been  sipping  the  wine 
with  evident  satisfaction,  facetiously  remarked, 

"  Why  yes,  Mr.  Clarence,  if  every  young  man  assumed  such 
a  position,  there  would  be  nobody  to  get  tipsy,  and  nobody  to 
make  other  people  tipsy,  you  know."  % 

Miss  Malvina,  considering  her  mother's  sally  an  excellent 
joke,  tittered  excruciatingly,  and  the  lady  herself  looked  as 
though  she  wanted  to,  but  as  it  failed  to  draw  tmore  than  a 
smile  from  the  gentlemen,  both  relapsed  into  an  awkward 
gravity. 

The  remark  brought  to  Edward's  mind  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed  in  the  morning,  and  he  inwardly  thought  that  the 
event  of  "  every  young  man  assuming  such  a  position,"  would 
be  about  the  best  thing  that  could  befall  the  world  in  general ; 
but  having  a  decided  veneration  for  popular  opinion,  he  con- 
sidered himself  totally  unequal  to  the  maintenance  of  such  a 
principle,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  all  Ms  efforts  could 
make  no  difference  in  the  state  of  affairs.  How  many  make 
up  their  minds  with  a  precisely  similar  result. 

"  Excuse  me,  Ma'am ;"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  replenishing  Mrs. 
Morley's  glass.  "  Keally,  Ma'am,  you  must  pardon  my  negli 
gence,  Ma'am ;  allow  me ;"  and  taking  her  plate,  he  hurried 
off  in  quest  of  a  fresh  supply  for  that  lady  to  look  at  and  nibble 
at;  while  Mr.  Dunn  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  less 
fastidious  partner  enjoy  the  exquisite  repast  with  true  epicu- 
rean delight. 

Another  circumstance  also  tended  to  the  gentleman's  more 
immediate  satisfaction.  Araminta  had  not  danced  with  young 
Marteau  during  the  whole  evening.  He  began  to  hope  that 
her  "girlish  fancy  was  cooling  down,  and  would  eventually  cool 
itself  entirely  away. 

His  heart  was  bound  up  in  his  child.  Fond  as  he  was  of  the 
world  and  its  gaieties,  all  his  real  affection  was  centered  in 
that  only  daughter.  He  was  proud  to  see  her  move  among 
so  many  beautiful  ones,  and  know  that  she  was  more  beautiful 


78  KATE    WESTON. 

than  all.  He  was  proud  that  she  dressed  with  the  most  splen- 
dor, and  moved  with  the  most  grace  of  any  among  her  com- 
panions, and  he  kept  hoping  for  the  time  when  she  would  see 
from  his  constant  watchfulness  and  affection,  that  his  love  was 
wctfthy  of  a  more  ardent  and  confiding  return. 

By  this  time  the  guests  were  enjoying  themselves  in  a  man- 
ner showing  that  they  knew  how  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
the  entertainment.  Pickled  oysters,  turkey,  ice-cream,  and 
Charlotte  Russe,  were  disappearing  from  the  elegantly  fur- 
nished tables.  Ladies  were  being  smothered,  and  their  dresses 
smeared.  Gentlemen  were  making  havoc  among  the  Methe- 
glin,  and  Madeira,  Cognac  and  Champagne.  Sometimes  an 
unlucky  wight  tripped  over  some  lady's  foot,  spilling  jelly  or 
port  wine  over  an  elegant  satin  or  velvet,  while  the  lady 
heartily  wishing  the  aggressor  in  Van  Dieman's  Land,  felt 
constrained  to  smile  her  sweetest,  and  speak  her  prettiest, 
that  she  might  let  him  know,  that,  to  her,  such  a  catastrophe 
was  of  the  slightest  possible  consequence.  Pale  cheeks  were 
flushing  from  partaking  of  the  universal  beverage,  and  all 
kinds  of  remarkable  capers  were  cut  under  the  influence 
of  such  excitement.  Mr.  Fitzroy  stumbled  against  one  of  the 
tables,  knocking  off  a  salver  containing  some  half-dozen 
splendidly-cut  decanters,  Mr.  Livingston  demolished  at  one 
blow  a  beautiful  fairy  grotto  in  the  center  of  the  table,  while 
reaching  eagerly  across  for  a  glass  of  sherry,  Monsieur  Roc- 
cieri,  feeling  a  sudden  dizziness,  and  concluding  thereby  that 
he  had  taken  quite  enough,  threw  the  bottle  from  which  he 
was  pouring  some  of  the  very  finest  Amontillado  indignant!  y 
upon  the  floor,  as  though  taking  his  revenge  upon  it  for  hav- 
ing induced  such  an  uncomfortable  confusion  in  the  head- 
quarters of  his  understanding. 

When  supper  was  over,  the  party  adjourned  to  the  parlor 
in  the  highest  glee  imaginable.  Ladies'  tongues  were  rattling 
faster  than  ever,  to  the  delight  of  admiring  beaus,  and  the 
contempt  of  rival  belles.  Slender  dandies  in  white  kids  bore 


KATE    WESTON.  79 

very  much  the  appearance  of  having  worked  faithfully  all  day 
beneath  a  broiling  sun,  both  from  the  burning  color  of  their 
faces,  and  the  somewhat  unsteady  motion  of  their  lower 
extremities.  All  the  gentlemen  seemed  so  superlatively  happy 
as  to  be  ready  to  engage  heart  and  hand  in  any  enterprise 
that  was  proposed ;  or,  in  other  words,  looked  quite  prepared 
to  enter  at  once  upon  what  is  vulgarly  termed,  "  kicking  up  a 
row,"  had  not  the  circumstances  under  which  .they  were 
assembled,  prevented  any  such  unlawful  proceeding. 

In  short,  they  were  as  zealous  in  tumbling  over  each  other's 
toes,  knocking  each  other's  elbows,  whizzing  dexterously  about 
with  charming  girls,  gambling  in  miniature  at  the  card-tables, 
and  exhibiting  every  other  similar  accomplishment,  as  could 
have  been  expected  of  members  of  the  most  fashionable  and 
refined  society  of  this  great  metropolis  of  our  Western 
World. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Araminta  ?"  "  Have  you  seen  Miss  Aramin- 
ta  ?"  "  Is  Miss  Araminta  ill  ?"  "  Where  is  Miss  Araminta  ?" 
The  carriages  were  waiting  at  the  door,  the  ladies  were  stand- 
ing in  the  hall  with  tassels  of  every  color  dangling  about  their 
faces,  the  gentlemen  were  ranged,  hat  in  hand,  watching  for 
their  respective  charges,  but  the  young  lady  did  not  appear. 
Her  father  had  been  to  the  parlor,  drawing-room,  supper-room, 
dressing-room,  but  she  was  not  to  be  found. 

"  How  very  strange !"  remarked  Mrs.  Pillipin.  "  I  haven't 
seen  her  since  supper." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  strange  at  all,  Mamma,"  said  Miss  Mal- 
vina,  "  Araminta  is  such  an  odd  creature.  She  likes  to  be 
different  from  anybody  else." 

"  Well,  I  believe  you  will  have  to  give  Miss  Dunn  our 
adieux,"  said  her  mother  to  the  astonished  father,  as  he  des- 
cended the  stairs.  "  Perhaps  the  dear  girl  isn't  well." 

Miss  Araminta  not  making  her  appearance,  Mrs.  Pillipin's 
example  was  followed  by  the  other  ladies,  who,  one  after 
another  filed  off  into  their  carriages,  and  rattled  away,  to  make 


80  KATE    WESTON. 

the  unexpected  disappearance  of  their  young  hostess  the 
theme  of  conversation  during  their  homeward  drive. 

As  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear,  Mr.  Dunn  hurried  up  to  his 
daughter's  room.  It  was  empty,  and  everything  lay,  appa- 
rently, as  it  always  did.  He  advanced  to  the  table.  His  eye 
fell  upon  a  small  note  directed  to  himself.  A  sudden  chill 
crept  over  him,  but  he  tore  it  open  and  read, 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER  : 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me.  I  feel  that  you  cannot  appreciate  the 
depth  of  my  attachment  to  my  dear  Adolphus,  and  knew,  as  the  event 
will  surely  prove,  that  your  objections  to  him  were  totally  unfounded. 
Forgive  us,  father,  we  should  never  have  taken  this  step  had  I  not 
felt  certain  that  you  would  not  only  pardon  us,  but  that  you  would 
very  soon  be  proud  of  my  noble  husband.  He  is  the  handsomest, 
most  affectionate,  and  the  best-educated  gentleman  I  ever  saw. 

"  Before  you  read  this,  we  shall  probably  be  married,  as  I  intend 
leaving  orders  with  one  of  the  servants  to  lay  this  note  upon  my 
dressing-table  ^at  the  very  hour  in  which  the  ceremony  will  be  per- 
formed. 

"  I  tell  you  by  whom  we  are  married  to  set  your  mind  at  rest.  We  go 
from  home  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mercer,  in  Grand  street.  To-morrow  we 
leave  for  the  East,  but  expect  to  be  back  in  one  week's  time  to 
receive  your  pardon  and  your  blessing.  Now,  my  dear  father,  don't 
be  angry  with  us,  and  we  will  be  such  good  children. 
1  remain  always 

Your  affectionate  daughter 

ARAMIXTA  DUNN." 

The  strong  man  dropped  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and  fell 
senseless  on  the  floor.  The  noise  brought  the  servants  rush- 
ing up  stairs,  while  Edward  followed  with  a  fluttering  heart, 
half-certain  that  something  unfortunate  had  occurred. 

Restoratives  were  applied,  and  Mr.  Dunn  was  lifted  from 
the  floor.  The  first  words  he  spoke  upon  recovering,  were  to 
call  for  his  daughter,  and  when  she  did  not  come,  he  looked 
anxiously  around.  Then,  appearing  to  recollect,  he  burst  into 
an  uncontrollable  cry  of  anguish.  Edward  endeavored  to 


KATE    WESTON.  81 

soothe  him,  but  he  paid  not  the  slightest  attention,  striving  to 
rise,  and  move  towards  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  said  Edward,  gently  detaining  him. 
"  Wait  a  few  moments,  sir,  until  you  are  better." 

"  Let  me  go,"  he  cried  feebly.  "  My  child  has  gone  with 
that  dissipated  gambler.  Why  did  I  not  forbid  him  the 
house  V 

"  Calm  yourself,  sir,"  said  Edward,  endeavoring  himself  to 
appear  as  little  excited  as  possible.  "Nothing  can  be  done 
until  you  are  sufficiently  self-possessed  to  act  calmly.  Have 
you  any  clue  to  her  ?" 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  the  father,  starting  up  again,  "  if  we  are 
not  too  late.  Will  you  order  the  carriage.  Tell  Thomas  to 
hurry  for  life  or  death." 

Thomas,  whom  the  emergency  of  the  matter  on  hand  had 
actually  kept  awake,  set  to  work  in  earnest,  so  that  in  five 
minutes,  the  father,  accompanied  by  his  young  guest,  started 
out  jn  a  frame  of  mind  bordering  upon  insanity.  The  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Mercer  was  easily  found,  and,  after  knocking  up 
the  clergyman,  they  ascertained  that  Mr.  Adolphus  Marteau 
and  Miss  Araminta  Dunn  had  been,  by  him,  united  for  life 
three  hours  previous  to  that  time. 

"  At  supper  time,"  groaned  Mr.  Dunn ;  "  I  thought  it 
strange  that  I  did  not  see  her  for  so  long.  She  writes  as 
though  it  were  a  pretty  little  hit  of  child's  play.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  it  was !  Is  there  no  way  of  recovering  my  child  ?" 
He  beat  his  hands  upon  his  forehead,  and  fell  into  a  seat,  with 
the  perspiration  standing  in  great  drops  upon  his  forehead. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  for  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Mercer,  "  but  it  is 
too  late  to  separate  them  now.  Mr.  Marteau  is  your  daugh- 
ter's legal  protector,  and  it  would  be  useless  to  interfere." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  which  way  they  have  gone  ?"  said  Mr. 
Dunn.  "  I  will  follow  them  at  least." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  I  have  not  the  slightest  clue 
to  their  intended  destination.  They  came  in  a  carriage,  and 

4* 


82  KATE    WESTON. 

left  immediately  after  the  ceremony  was  performed."  The 
kind-hearted  clergyman  proffered  a  few  words  of  sympathy 
and  consolation  to  the  bereaved  father,  but  they  were  founded 
on  faith  in  Him  who  has  promised  His  children  never  to 
leave  nor  forsake  them,  and  consequently  found  no  echo  in 
his  heart. 

It  was  of  no  use.  The  die  was  cast,  and  any  effort  of  his 
must  be  unavailing.  They  returned  to  the  carriage  in  silence. 
The  homeward  drive  brought  back  to  that  unthinking  man 
of  the  world  years  of  gaiety  and  dissipation ;  scenes  over  Avhich 
he  would  fain  have  thrown  the  shadows  of  oblivion ;  hopes 
growing  up  of  after  years  of  quiet  peace,  for  which  his  weary 
soul  was  longing  now,  but  which  he  felt  were  torn  from  him 
for  ever ;  love  that  had  been  sinking  deeper  in  his  breast,  as 
its  object  added  grace  to  grace,  and  charm  to  charm,  until  so 
strong'  that  no  earthly  power  could  heal  the  wound  it  made 
in  parting.  Then  there  came  back  to  him  the  faces  of  his 
early  love.  Father,  mother,  sisters,  wife — how  changed  he  was, 
how  very  much  changed,  since  they  looked  upon  him  last  ?  How 
many  dark  spots  lay  all  along  his  line  of  life,  that  no  sunshine 
could  brighten.  Pale  faces  gazed  reproachfully  upon  him 
through  the  darkness,  as  he  waved  them  impatiently  away. 
Bloated  ones  leered  upon  him  with  their  hideous  eyes,  of 
those  he  knew  were  lying  in  the  drunkard's  grave.  And, 
strange  to  say,  the  figure  of  the  desolate  child  weeping  at  his 
door,  mingled  with  them  all,  now  fixing  those  large  eyes  upon 
his  face,  now  wandering  along  in  the  cold  and  darkness,  now 
lying,  pale  and  chill,  beneath  his  feet. 

He  looked  out  at  the  great  houses,  looming  through  the 
darkness,  and  at  the  trees  through  which  the  wind  sighed 
mournfully.  They  bore  naught  to  him  but  shades  of  gloom 
that  seemed  lengthening  along  his  future,  shutting  out  for  ever 
all  light,  and  hope,  and  love.  The  night  opened  in  revelry 
and  mirth.  Day  was  dawning  upon  a  broken  heart. 

And  yet — sitting  there  with  the  memory  of  the  widow's 


KATE    WESTON.  83 

wrongs,  the  visions  of  evil  prompted  by  a  lust  of  gain,  the 
overwhelming  consciousness  of  his  own  sin  and  heartlessness* 
he  crushed  the  tenderness  that  was  swelling  in  his  bosom,  and 
vowed  that  he  would  never  see  his  child.  She,  who  had 
learned  of  him  to  turn  from  the  purity  aud  simplicity  of  home 
to  the  intoxicating  whirl  of  fashionable  pleasures;  she  who 
had  watched  in  him  the  pride  of  wealth,  and  rank,  and  beauty, 
for  which  same  pride  she  was  discarded  now. 

Poor,  short-sighted  mortal !  Was  it  for  thee  or  her,  the 
bitterest  portion  of  the  bitter  cup  poured  out  in  that  hour  of 
thy  mortal  anguish  and  immortal  pride  ? 


HATE    WESTON.  84 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  POOR  little  creature,"  said  Mrs.  Terry,  wiping  her  eyes  as 
Edward  finished  relating  to  her  the  history  of  the  child,  "  if 
I  had  known  all  this,  I  should  have  made  no  objection  to  your 
course." 

Mr.  Terry  being  naturally  of  a  reflective  character,  deemed 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  impress  upon  his  thoughtless 
brother-in-law  the  necessity  of  greater  caution  in  yielding  to 
the  dictates  of  a  generous  heart.  After  fumbling  his  hand- 
kerchief suspiciously  across  his  eyes,  and  clearing  his  voice 
with  two  or  three  ahems,  he  said — 

"  Which,  notwithstanding,  I  can  but  consider  an  imprudent 
one.  It  would  have  been  safer,  at  least,  to  have  visited  the 
family  by  whom  she  was  previously  employed.  Ah,  Edward, 
you  cannot  tell  how  much  deception  is  practised  in  such 
matters  in  New  York." 

Edward  peeped  over  one  shoulder  with  a  mischievous  wink 
at  his  sister,  saying  quietly,  "  Clergymen  who  let  crazy  men 
into  their  pulpits,  shouldn't  be  unwilling  to  let  beggars  into 
their  houses." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  either,"  was  the  young  clergyman's 
answer ;  "  this  child's  story  is  a  very  painful  one,  and  she  cer- 
tainly looks  innocent  and  sorrowful  enough  to  justify  all  your 
credulity.  As  for  poor  old  Father  Benson,  although  flighty 
on  some  subjects,  he  can  and  does  preach  as  evangelical  a 
sermon  as  I  do.  Very  plain  and  homely,  it  is  true,  but  evan- 
gelical, nevertheless.  And  I  am  certain,"  he  added  with 
some  warmth,  "  you  cannot  complain  of  anything  in  his  char- 


KATE   WESTON.  85 

acter  to  debar  him  from  entering  the  pulpit,  for  a  more  con- 
sistent Christian  I  never  saw." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  cried  Edward,  glancing  out  of  the  win- 
dow, "here  he  comes.  Talk  about  a  certain  personage,  and 
he's  always  at  hand.  Now,  then,  brother,  for  an  hour's  impris- 
onment. I  don't  envy  you." 

"  And  I  have  a  sermon  to  write  this  afternon,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Terry,  in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Why,  send  the  old  gentleman  about  his  business,  to  be 
sure,"  answered  Edward,  "  you  can't  expect  to  sit  and  talk 
with  him  two  or  three  hours.  Don't  let  him  disturb  you ; 
tell  him  you  are  engaged." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  it,"  retorted  the  disturbed  clergyman ; 
"  I  can  never  get  him  away  without  giving  him  permission  to 
preach,  and  my  principal  train  of  argument  is  not  even  laid." 
The  grave,  clerical  face  wore,  for  a  moment,  an  expression  of 
considerable  impatience,  but  it  cleared  again  as  a  knock 
sounded  at  the  door,  and  a  servant  ushered  in  the  visitor. 

A  short,  gray-headed  old  gentleman,  in  a  very  long-skirted 
overcoat,  ambled  into  the  room,  holding  in  one  hand  a  silver- 
headed  cane,  and  in  the  other  a  parcel  of  books.  He  gave 
three  affable  little  bows  as  he  entered  the  room,  accompanying 
each  with  a  little  thump  of  his  cane  upon  the  floor.  Then  he 
went  straight  up  to  the  table,  and  deposited  thereupon  parcel, 
cane,  hat  and  gloves.  Then  taking  his  cane  firmly  in  his  left 
hand,  he  faced  about,  and  with  a  cordial  business  air,  made 
the  tour  of  the  company,  beginning  with  Mr,  Terry,  shaking 
hands  as  though  he  had  not  seen  them  for  years,  and  accom- 
panying each  individual  shake  with  three  affable  little  bows, 
and  as  many  decisive  little  thumps.  Having  accomplished 
this,  he  kissed  the  baby  three  times  in  the  same  off-hand  man- 
ner, and,  stepping  nimbly  to  the  sofa,  seated  himself  thereon, 
looking  about  him  with  an  air  of  perfect  satisfaction. 

"  Well,  Father  Benson,  how  do  you  find  your  business  to- 
day 2"  inquired  the  clergyman ;  "  sold  many  books  this  week  ?" 


86  KATE    WESTON.  „ 

"  Quite  a  good  many,  sir,"  answered  the  little  old  gentleman 
with  a  peculiarly  pleasant  twinkle  of  the  eye.  "  Thanks  be 
to  God,  He  takes  care  of  poor  old  Daddy  Benson  while  he's 
waiting  such  a  long  time  for  the  day  of  his  rejoicing.  Yes 
sir,  I  can  trot  about  and  sell  my  standard  library  until  the 
prodigal  returns,  and  then  will  be  the  time  to  kill  the  fatted 
calf,  and  make  merry."  Here  he  testified  his  delight  at  this 
agreeable  prospect  by  a  short,  ecstatic  laugh,  and  three  little 
bows  and  thumps  as  before. 

"  Well,  Father  Benson,"  said  Mr.  Terry,  a  little  uneasily,  *'  I 
think  you  must  excuse  me  this  afternoon,  for  I  have  some 
important  business  on  hand  that  I  cannot  feel  it  my  duty  to 
neglect." 

"  How  strange  a  coincidence  !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  look- 
ing round  delightedly  upon  the  company.  "  It  was  some  very 
important  business  upon  which  I  came  this  afternoon ;  some 
business  that  /  consider  the  most  important  in  the  world.  I 
have  walked  three  miles  on  purpose  to  see  you  about  the 
matter.  Take  a  seat  here,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Under  such  circumstances,  what  could  the  clergyman  do  but 
sit  down  and  listen,  especially  as  he  really  loved  the  aged  man, 
and  only  avoided  his  society  because  it  was  forced  upon  him 
at  such  inconvenient  seasons.  Edward  and  his  sister  withdrew 
to  the  sitting-room,  leaving  them  to  their  conference,  and  only 
casting  a  sly  smile  at  the  patient  martyr  who  was  revelling  in 
the  delightful  expectation  of  delivering  a  very  poor  sermon 
on  the  following  day. 

"  Now,  my  dear  brother,"  whispered  Father  Benson,  draw- 
ing close  up  to  his  listener,  and  giving  one  soft  knock  upon 
the  floor,  "  do  you  know  that  the  wolf  is  in  the  fold  ?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Terry,  thinking  how  he  should  lay  out 
his  discourse. 

"  He's  fairly  in,"  continued  the  old  gentleman, "  and  nobody's 
put  out  a  hand  to  stop  him.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  got  on 
my  mind,  and  you  mustn't  hinder  me.  I  have  written  a  first- 


KATE    WESTON.  8Y 

rate  sermon,  and  I  want  to  give  it  to  your  people  to-morrow. 
I  want  to  open  their  eyes  a  little  to  the  wild  beast  of  the 
desert  that  is  waiting  to  devour  them.  I  want  to  let -them  see 
that  they've  got  to  stick  fast  to  the  anchor,  or  they'll  all  get 
stranded  on  the  rocks.  Have  you  seen  the  new  saloon?" 
He  turned  round,  eying  the  young  man  with  considerable 
earnestness  as  he  bowed  an  affirmative  to  his  question. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  continued,  "  that  man's  a  child  of  Satan. 
If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  eat  oysters  there,  nor  I  wouldn't  take 
cream  there,  nor  I  wouldn't  let  any  of  my  people  go  there. 
I've  seen  just  such  places  before,  and  nothing  but  death  and 
destruction  follows  in  their  wake.  What  makes  thieves,  I 
wonder  ?  What  makes  murderers,  I  wonder  ?  What  made 
the  noblest  boy  that  ever  gladdened  a  father's  heart  go  off  to 
sea,  and  kill  his  mother  of  a  broken  heart?  I  wonder 'who'd 
buy  oranges  and  sugar-plums  of  a  man  that  made  it  his  busi- 
ness to  poison  people.  But  say  now,  can't  I  preach  to-morrow? 
I  can  preach  a  first-rate  sermon,  now  you  know  I  can." 

"  I  have  given  out  my  subject  for  both  morning  and  after- 
noon," answered  Mr.  Terry,  "  and  have  not  the  power  to  grant 
your  request." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  double  thump, 
"  that's  of  no  consequence  whatever.  Really  now,  can't  you 
believe  me  when  I  say  that  this  is  the  most  important  matter 
in  the  world.  All  you  have  got  to  do,  is  to  give  out  to  your 
people  in  the  morning,  that  a  discourse  upon  a  subject  of  the 
highest  importance  having  been  prepared  by  a  distinguished 
brother-clergyman,  you  have  concluded  to  wait  until  next 
Sunday  before  delivering  your  own.  That'll  bring  them  out. 
You  see  I  can  manage  for  you."  This  appearing  to  him  a 
very  satisfactory  way  of  "  managing,"  he  let  go  his  cane  for 
the  purpose  of  rubbing  his  hands,  at  the  same  time  turning 
his  round  bright  eyes  so  as  to  bear  upon  his  companion's  face. 

The  congregation  being  decidedly  partial  to  his  own  preach- 
ing, the  clergyman  was  determined  not  to  give  up  the  point. 


88  KATE    WESTON. 

"  You  see,  dear  Father  Benson,"  he  answered,  "  my  people 
have  requested  me  particularly  to  prepare  a  discourse  upon 
this  subject,  and  I  think  it  would  be  hardly  right  to  disappoint 
them.  And  now,  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me.  I  have  so 
much  to  do  this  afternoon.  Another  " — 

"  My  dear  brother,"  interrupted  Father  Benson,  "  you  must 
exercise  the  grace  of  patience.  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
understand  the  importance  of  this  matter.  My  poor  prodigal 
boy  knows  well  enough,  and  maybe  he'll  tell  you  when  he 
returns  from  sea."  The  poor  old  gentleman  looked  a  little 
perplexed,  as  though  beating  about  for  some  new  argument. 
At  length  with  a  decisive  knock  of  his  cane,  he  resumed  in  a 
confidential  tone.  *Did  you  know  Edward  Clarence  went  into 
T.  Gamp  and  Co.'s  last  Tuesday  night,  and  took  three  glasses 
of  wine.  Now,  who  blames  Edward  ?  Not  I.  He's  a  poor 
lamb  that  the  wolf  is  thirsting  to  devour.  And  there  are 
many  and  many  more  that'll  be  drawn  into  his  den  if  you 
don't  let  me  warn  them  of  their  danger.  Oome  now,  I'll 
read  a  bit  of  it  to  you."  He  took  a  large  roll  of  paper  from 
the  huge  pocket  of  the  long  coat,  and  prepared  to  open  it, 
when  Mr.  Terry,  laying  his  hand  upon  it,  said  persuasively : 

"  I  will  read  it  another  time  if  you  will  not  hinder  me 
now.  You  see  I  am  in  such  a  hurry  that " — 

"  But,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  holding  fast  to  his  roll,  "  my 
dear  brother,  you  must  exercise  the  grace  of  patience.  Who 
should  tell  you  that  but  me,  who  has  been  waiting  this  twenty 
years  for  my  boy  to  come  back.  They  told  us  he  was  dead, 
and  his  poor  mother,  bless  her  soul,  believed  every  word  of  it. 
But  then  I  know  it's  all  stuff  and  nonsense,  contrived  by  some 
one  of  their  own  crew  to  make  us  unhappy.  And  what's  the 
consequence  ?  Why,  I  lost  m^  precious  wife,"  here  the  tears 
started  to  his  eyes,  "  and  my  old  age  is  very  desolate  without 
her.  But  then,"  he  added  in  a  more  cheerful  tone,  "  I  know 
he'll  come  back  to  me  some  day,  and  take  me  home  to  his 
wife  and  children,  for  they  said  he  was  married,  and  I  shall 


KATE    WESTON.  89 

be  so  happy  again.  Do  you  think  it'll  be  long  now  ?"  He 
looked  with  such  an  eager  expression  into  the  young  clergy- 
man's face  that  the  tears  almost  rushed  to  his  listener's  eyes, 
but  he  merely  answered,  striving  to  quell  the  sudden  impulse 
of  sympathy. 

"  Dear  Father  Benson,  how  can  I  tell  when  you  do  not 
know  yourself?  You  ought  to  inform  me  upon  the  subject, 
so"— 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  he  quickly,  "  but  I  mean  do  you 
think  so  ?  If  the  rum-sellers  would  only  clear  out  now,  and 
leave  the  coast  clear,  I  might  hunt  him  out,  maybe.  You 
see  they've  kept  him  hidden  away  these  many  years,  but  I 
don't  think  they'll  hide  him  away  for  ever.  He's  a  fine  boy. 
A  fine  boy  indeed,  is  Willie  Benson.  Just  wait  now,  till  you 
see  him.  Hush  now,  and  I'll  tell  you  ar  little  plot  of  mine. 
I'm  going  to  find  out  if  this  is  the  man  that's  got  him.  I'll 
tell  you  how. — No,  I  don't  dare  tell,  he  might  hear  me."  The 
old  gentleman  looked  mysteriously  about  as  though  intending 
to  communicate  some  important  secret,  but  suddenly  remem- 
bering his  manuscript,  he  exclaimed,  "  But  I  must  read  you  a 
little  of  my  sermon.  You'll  like  it  when  you  hear  it,  I'm 
sure ;"  and  he  again  essayed  to  open  the  paper. 

Mr.  Terry  knowing  that  if  once  suffered  to  commence,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  stop  him  without  listening  to  the 
whole,  and  having  sundry  visions  of  a  large  congregation 
and  a  very  inferior  sermon,  made  one  more  effort  to  break 

free.     "  Father  Benson,  if  I  had  the  time,  I  would  listen  with 

'  / 

the  greatest  pleasure.  As  it  is,  I  really  cannot  stop,  as  my 
afternoon's  sermon  is  not  " — 

"  My  dear  brother,"  again  interrupted  the  old  gentleman, 
enforcing  his  advice  with  three  emphatic  thumps,  "  you  must 
cultivate  the  grace  of  patience  !  You  know  I  preach  for  you 
in  the  afternoon.  In  the  first  place,  I  divide  my  sermon  into 
three  heads.  Three's  my  number  always.  Three  knocks," 
enforcing  it  with  an  illustration,  "  three  heads,  three  years 


90  KATE   WESTON. 

(that  is,  to  the  return  of  the  prodigal,  and  the  killing  of  the 
fatted  calf),  three  this,  three  that,  three  everything.  But  to 
begin." 

The  result  would  have  probably  given  abundant  evidence 
of  the  grace  of  patience  in  the  despairing  young  clergyman, 
had  not  his  father-in-law  at  this  moment  flourished  into  the 
room  a  tremendous  red  silk  handkerchief,  as  though  that 
article  were  the  sole  and  immediate  occasion  of  his  entrance. 
When  the  burly  Mr.  Jeremiah  Clarence,  standing  full  six  feet 
three  in  his  stockings,  and  stout  accordingly,  strided  up  to 
the  little  withered  gentleman,  there  was  such  a  shaking  of 
hands,  such  a  profusion  of  bows,  such  a  shower  of  thumps, 
and  such  a  waving  of  the  red  pocket-handkerchief  as  were 
unutterably  delightful  to  the  heart  of  the  reviving  son-in-law, 
as  tokens  of  immediate  relief. 

u  Why,  my  dear  Daddy  Benson,"  cried  the  gentleman,  "  it's 
full  six  months  since  I've  laid  my  eyes  upon  you.  Have  you 
been  trudging  about  now,  with  that  great  bundle  of  "  Standard 
Libraries  "  there,  and  never  giving  your  old  back  a  minute  to 
get  rested  alongside  of  your  old  friend.  Come  now,  you  go 
home  with  me  to-night,  and  don't  get  off  again  till  I  say  the 
word.  You're  my  prisoner,  so  don't  cut  any  capers." 

"  You  see,  Jeremiah,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  putting  on  his 
very  pleasantest  smile,  and  knocking  ahead  some  dozen  times 
in  the  intensity  of  his  delight  at  this  agreeable  meeting,  "  the 
fact  is,  I've  been  trying  to  make  this  dear  boy  believe  that 
I've  got  a  first-rate  sermon  here  to  preach  to-morrow,  and 
upon  »  subject  of  the  greatest  importance,  and  can't  make  him 
listen  to  the  very  first  word.  You  know  the  old  adage 
'  Young  folks  think  old  folks  are  fools — '  ha — ha !" 

"  '  And  old  folks  know  young  folks  are !'  that's  it,  precisely," 
laughed  Mr.  Jeremiah,  "  and  the  worst  part  of  the  business  is 
that  they  don't  know  it,  the  young  pedants  !" 

"Come  now,  Jeremiah,"  said  Father  Benson  coaxingly, 
"  can't  you  say  a  word  in  my  behalf?" 


KATE   WESTON.  91 

Mr.  Jeremiah  took  the  tremendous  red  handkerchief  by  the 
two  corners,  and  after  giving  it  a  slight  shake,-  rolled  it  under 
and  under  till  reduced  to  the  size  of  a  small  loaf  of  bread, 
then,  after  blowing  his  nose  most  terrifically,  proceeded  to 
shake  it  out  and  roll  it  up  as  before.  After  this  operation,  he 
winked  at  his  son-in-law  over  the  old  gentleman's  head,  cry- 
in  o-  in  a  stentorian  voice,  "  Oh  nonsense,  let  the  sermon  take 

O  '  ' 

care  of  itself.  I  want  to  have  a  chat  with  you.  Leave  the 
young  pedagogue  to  look  out  his  own  sermons.  Isn't  that  a 
tiptop  baby  of  mine  ?"  So  saying,  Mr.  Clarence  put  his  hand 
upon  Father  Benson's  shoulder  in  a  manner  utterly  irresistible, 
charming  along  old  gentleman,  long  coat-tails,  package,  cane, 
hat,  gloves  and  all,  until  they  had  left  the  rejoicing  young 
clergyman  in  undisturbed  possession  of  his  study  and  his  time. 

The  two  gentlemen  walked  lovingly  down  the  road,  the 
lusty  arm  of  Mr.  Clarence  supporting  his  feebler  brother, 
while  the  venerable  man  trotted  along  by  his  side,  with  a 
bright  look  of  peculiar  hopefulness  beaming  from  his  face,  and 
no  inconsiderable  amount  of  the  same  article  streaming  from 
his  tongue.  .  . 

"  Tell  you  how  'tis,"  said  he,  tapping  his  companion's  arm 
with  the  head  of  his  cane,  in  lieu  of  the  usual  thump  upon 
the  floor.  "  It  does  my  old  soul  good,  Jeremiah,  to  see  you 
and  hear  you  talk  ;  you  are  so  hearty  and  right  to  the  mark. 
I  don't  come  across  many  such  men  now-a-days.  It  makes  me 
think  of  nay  poor  boy ;  he'd  have  been  just  like  you  for  all 
the  world,  if  he  hadn't  been  led  away,  and  drawn  on  and  on — 
but  he'll  come  back  yet,  in  three'years,  you  know  everything 
goes  by  threes.  But  see  here,"  he  whispered,  looking  all 
about  him,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that  new  place,  T.  Gamp 
&  Co.,  you  know  ?" 

"  What  do  I  think  of  it  ?"  cried  Mr.  Jeremiah,  taking  a 
stride  that  made  his  companion  stagger.  "  I  told  my  girls 
the  devil  had  come,  when  I  saw  that  detestable  placard  pasted 
on  my  fence." 


92  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Hush,  hush !"  said  his  companion,  looking  carefully  all 
about  him,  and  peering  into  the  hedge-row  at  the  side  of  the 
road.  "  Don't  talk  so  loud.  They'll  hear  you." 

"  Hear  me  ?"  shouted  his  friend,  "  hear  me  ?  let  them  hear 
me.  I  mean  they  shall  hear  me.  If  there  was  any  way  to 
manage  it,  I'd  battle  'em  to  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  and 
the  last  cent  of  my  money.  Poor  Father  Benson,"  he  added, 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  needn't  go  far  for  a  reason  for  my  hatred 
of  this  vile  traffic  in  life  and  health*,  and  happiness."  He  cast 
a  pitying  glance  down  upon  the  silver  hair  and  bent  form  of 
the  old  man,  who  was  watching  his  animated  gestures  with  a 
look  of  eager  interest. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  tapping  with  his  cane  as  before,  "I 
know  it's  horrible,  all  horrible,  from  beginning  to  end.  But 
if  they  hear  us,  they  won't  let  me  have  my  boy.  I  have  a 
plot  now,  you  know.  We'll  go  along  by  T.  Gamp  &  Co.'s, 
and  we'll  just  step  in  by  accident,  altogether  by  accident;  oh 
yes !"  here  the  old  gentleman  made  a  feint  of  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  but  his  cane  being  in  the  way,  he  substituted 
a  little  rapturous  shake  of  the  head,  "  well,  then,  I  shall  look 
all  about  behind  the  screens  and  under  the  counter  (there's 
where  they  used  to  keep  him,  you  know,  until  they  carried 
him  off  to  sea),  and  if  he  isn't  there,  why  I  shall  have  to  wait 
another  three  years.  Three,  Jeremiah,  everything  goes  by 
threes.  Then,  you  know,  I  wanted  to  warn  the  people  to- 
morrow, against  letting  their  boys  get  entrapped.  Now,  how 
would  you  feel,  if  Edward  should  get  carried  off  to  sea  after 
"Will  ?  He  was  down  there  the  other  night,  and  you  don't 
know  what  they'll  do  to  keep  him." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  wave  of  the  handkerchief, 
"  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  Ed.  They  can't  come  any  of  their 
tricks  over  him.  But  there  are  so  many  poor  undecided 
creatures  that  can't  resist  temptation.  Poor  Teddy  Toole, 
down  by  the  creek,  came  here  on  purpose  to  get  clear  of  the 
danger,  and  Edward  tells  me  his  sister  is  coming  out  to  warn 


KATE    WESTON.  93 

him  never  to  go  near  the  new  rumseller.  Thomas  Brown,  too, 
with  his  poor  old  widowed  mother,  moved  here  because  there 
was  no  liquor  sold.  They  are  not  the  only  ones  either,  that  have 
come  here  to  get  away  from  their  enemy,  and  now  it's  come 
to  them  again,  'tisn't  likely  it  will  be  any  easier  for  them  to 
leave  it  alone  than  before.  I've  seen  what  such  places  bring, 
and  I  know  where  they  lead  to." 

"  They  lead,"  said  his  companion,  "  to — to — sea,  and  to  a 
broken  heart.  I'm  afraid  that's  what's  become  of  my  poor 
child.  A  broken  heart !" 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully,  while  Mr.  Clarence  ex- 
claimed— 

"Yes,  and  further  than  that,  I  can  tell  you.  But  never 
mind,"  he  added,  checking  himself  as  he  remembered  whom 
he  was  addressing,  "  here  we  turn  off,  let  us  change  the  sub- 
ject. I  have  no  patience  to  talk  about  it  when  I  cannot  help 
the  evil ;  but  I  really  think  when  Satan  comes,  he  might  as 
well  take  his  natural  shape,  and  not  gloss  himself  over  with  a 
rumseller's  smooth  words  and  deceitful  smiles." 

As  they  turned  tiie  corner,  and  passed  along  the  road,  a 
head  was  cautiously  raised  just  above  the  level  of  the  hedge, 
and  a  pair  of  malicious,  squinting  eyes  took  a  survey  of  the 
whole  immediate  neighborhoood.  Then  a  pair  of  shoulders 
followed  the  head ;  then  a  jewelled  forefinger  performed  a 
very  expressive  pantomime  in  the  direction  of  the  two  reced- 
ing figures,  and  the  words  hissed  out  from  the  set  teeth,  while 
a  frown  of  defiance  and  hatred  worked  upon  the  face. 

"  That  is  your  song,  old  wizard  and  burly  brag.  That's 
your  fancy.  The  devil,  eh  ?  Then  the  devil  shall  have  his 
own!" 

Having  thus  shortly  expressed  himself,  he  shook  his  head 
with  a  sudden  snarl,  as  though  to  give  vent  to  his  superfluous 
indignation,  and,  allowing  his  features  to  relax  into  a  hideous 
smile,  crept  out  into  the  road.  He  walked  slowly  along  at 
some  distance  behind  the  two  men,  keeping  a  little  in  the 


94  KATE    WESTON. 

shadow  of  the  trees,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  apparently  in  deep  meditation. 
Now  and  then  he  cast  a  furtive  glance  towards  the  pedestrians 
before  him,  on  every  repetition  of  which  he  performed  the 
same  peculiar  evolution  with  his  forefinger,  and  gave  utter- 
ance to  a  short  husky  laugh,  not  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by 
the  apparent  objects  of  his  mirth. 

Now,  the  office  of  Dr.  Higgins  being  directly  on  his  route, 
he  concluded  to  call  upon  that  gentleman,  who,  in  years  gone 
by,  had  been  a  bosom  friend  of  his  own.  The  doctor,  as  he 
had  hoped,  was  alone. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Higgins  ?"  said  the  squint-eyed  indi- 
vidual, as  he  entered  the  office.  "  Got  another  fit  of  ague, 
eh?" 

"  Slight  touch,"  said  that  gentleman,  shaking  perceptibly, 
"  how  do  you  find  yourself  to-day,  Gamp  ?  Climate  doesn't 
affect  you «" 

"  Climate  !'•'  sneered  his  companion.  "  I've  tried  pretty 
much  all  the  climates  in  this  world,  and  I've  had  parsons 
tell  me  I'd  try  the  climate  of  another  some  day,  ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

"  I  have  to  be  so  careful  since  I  came  •  out  here,"  replied 
Dr.  Higgins.  "  I  use  every  possible  precaution,  and  yet  I  am 
continually  suffering.  I  will  not,  however,  leave  the  office, 
unless  I  have  business  elsewhere.  Tread  the  mill  steadily, 
that's  my  motto.  Business  can't  be  neglected  without  a  terri- 
ble loss  of  money,  and  that,  you  know,  /  could  ill  afford ;  for, 
notwithstanding  all  my  perseverance,  I  have  been  able  to  lay 
up  little,  very  little."  He  shook  his  head  dolefully,  and  cer- 
tainly presented  the  appearance  of  a  man  very  poorly  off  in 
the  world,  both  as  regarded  health  and  wealth,  for  his  dress 
on  the  present  occasion  was  decidedly  seedy,  and  his  rickety 
body  was  lanker  and  shakier  than  ever. 

"Oh!  oh,  Higgins,"  replied  his  visitor,  with  a  knowing 
squint  of  his  ugly  eye,  "  it's  no  use  your  stuffing  me.  I  don't 


KATE  -WESTON.  95 

want  any  subscriptions  or  charities  from  you.  But  I've  a 
little  business  on  hand.  You  remember  I  talked  of  purchas- 
ing a  lot  from  Mr.  Clarence.  I  merely  want  to  get  you  to 
send  Edward  Clarence  round  to  see  about  the  business. 

"  What's  that  for  ?"  said  Higgins  quickly,  to  whom  a  per- 
centage had  been  promised  in  the  event  of  his  selling  the  pro- 
perty in  question,  "/am  the  agent  of  Mr.  Clarence  in^this 
affair." 

"  I  know  my  own  business,  I  suppose,"  snarled  Gamp. 
"There's  no  use  making  words  with  you.  Fact  is,  I've  got  a 
notion  for  making  the  young  dog  drunk.  I've  a  reason  of  my 
own." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Higgins,  fidgeting  a  little,  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  hurt  him  for  once,  but  really,  he's  such  a  fine 
fellow,  I  hope  you  won't  take  him  too  far.  You  see  he  hasn't 
the  prudence.  Now,  I  never  indulge  beyond  what  is  good 
for  my  health,  but  he  wouldn't  think  much  of  that,  I  imagine." 
Here  the  lank  doctor  put  a  sanctimonious  expression  of 
remonstrance  on  his  cadaverous  face,  and  passed  his  fingers 
through  his  bristly  hair. 

"  Gammon !"  sneered  Gamp,  "  do  you  suppose  I  don't  IOIOAV 
that  you  wouldn't  care  two  straws  if  he  or  anybody  else 
were  sprawling  dead  drunk  in  the  gutter  yonder,  as  long 
as  you  made  your  spec  out  of  the  matter?  It's  no  use. 
You  and  I  know  one  another,  better  by  a  long  shot  than 
anybody  else,  I  reckon.  I'm  an  out-and-outer,  you  know  I 
am ;  and  if  I  succeed,  I'll  fork  over  a  penny  or  two.  Once 
get  him  under  my  thumb,  and  I'll  make  him  dance  to  a  jolly 
tune.  Old  dad's  worth  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars,  I  hear. 
Rise  of  property,  &c.,  &c.  Sticks  to  his  farm  close  as  ever. 
Fine  man.  O — oh  yes,  capital  man,  hates  the  devil  like  poi- 
son. So  does  the  devil  hate  you,  old  boy,  but  he  likes  your 
handsome  son.  Pride  of  father's  heart,  eh?  We'll  see 
who'll  win  the  battle.  Maybe  you'll  spill  blood  and  money 
both  for  something  you  han't  calculated  on.  Old  codger,  too, 


96  KATE    WESTON. 

maybe  your  boy'll  come  back  again.  Oh,  yes,  maybe  he 
will." 

This  address  being  evidently  intended  for  some  person  or 
persons  not  present,  Dr.  Higgins  sat  immovable  during  its 
delivery,  as  though  so  accustomed  to  his  companion's  humors 
as  to  pay  no  attention  to  them  whatever. 

To  do  Mr.  Gamp  justice,  he  never  exhibited  any  of  these 
humors,  save  in  the  presence  of  this  same  gentleman,  whose 
heart  being  cast  in  nearly  the  same  mold  as  his  o\yn,  was 
capable  of  making  allowance  for  any  peculiarity  in  his  man- 
ner of  exhibiting  them.  In  all  other  society,  he  was  the 
obsequious,  unassuming  humble  servant  of  everybody  he  did 
or  did  not  desire  to  please,  so  that  the  present  interview 
may  be  considered  a  peep  scarcely  lawful  into  a  little  private 
eccentricity  of  character. 


KATE    WESTON.  97 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AUNT  BIDDY'S  VISIT. 

DOWN  at  the  further  end  of  the  village,  stood  a  small, 
comfortable  cottage,  right  in  the  middle  of  a  long  patch  of 
potatoes  immediately  joining  the  road.  Behind  the  potatoes 
another  patch,  where  cabbages  lifted  up  their  wholesome 
heads  to  the  dew  and  sunshine,  and  behind  them,  still  another 
patch,  smiling  forth  in  the  pride  of  onions,  carrots,  corn,  &c. 
The  whole  garden  was  just  now  considerably  under  weather, 
from  the  fact  of  the  lateness  of  the  season  having  induced  a 
considerable  digging  of  potatoes,  cutting  of  cabbages,  gather- 
ing of  corn,  &c.,  &c.  Enough,  however,  still  remained  to 
show  the  abundance  that  had  been,  and  to  give  evidence  of  a 
bountiful  supply  for  the  cottage  cellar. 

The  house  was  a  one-story  cottage,  containing  four  good- 
sized  rooms,  the  parlor  and  kitchen  being  on  one  side  of  the 
hall,  and  two  bed-rooms  on  the  other.  A  smart,  happy-look- 
ing woman,  with  a  good-natured  twist  about  the  mouth, 
stood  in  the  open  doorway,  with  arms  akimbo,  surveying  the 
whole  establishment  with  an  expression  of  unmitigated 
delight.  She  wasn't  at  all  out  of  the  way  either,  in  her 
admiration  of  the  premises,  for  everything  looked  bright  and 
pleasant  about,  from  the  row  of  glittering  pans  spread 
ostentatiously  along  the  bench  over  by  the  kitchen,  to  the 
shiny  faces  of  the  children  playing  before  the  door.  The 
house  was  painted  white,  and  at  each  of  the  four  front  win- 
dows, a  green  paper  curtain  supplied  the  lack  of  outer  blinds. 

5 


98  KATE    WESTON. 

•'!  he  steps  and  hall  were  well-scrubbed,  and  the  parlor-door 
standing  open,  revealed  a  very  bright  rag-carpet  upon  the 
lloor.  The  whole  half-dozen  children  in  clean  jackets,  gowns, 
and  pinafores,  were  gamboling  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
cottage,  between  the  narrow  flower-beds,  reveling  in  the 
prospect  of  Aunt  Biddy's  cookies  and  sugar  plums. 

A  comical-looking  lot  of  children  they  were.  Very  much 
alike,  with  white  hair,  pale  blue  eyes,  and  faces  rounder,  if 
possible,  than  any  apple.  Not  ill-favored,  either,  with  such  a 
rosy  hue  of  health,  and  such  a  superfluity  of  good  nature  in 
their  simple  fat  faces.  The  two  oldest  boys  had  long  ago 
attained  to  the  dignity  of  jacket  and  trowsers,  a  position 
greatly  envied  by  three-year-old  Johnny,  who  had  not  yet 
doffed  gown  and  petticoats.  The  white  heads  of  the  three 
girls  were  ornamented,  on  the  present  occasion,  by  sundry 
knots  of  sky-blue  ribbon,  and  their  white  necks  encircled  by 
sundry  strings  of  large  glass  beads,  worn  only  on  holidays, 
and  highly  prized  as  Aunt  Biddy's  gift  on  her  last  visit. 

As  Mrs.  Toole  stood  admiring  her  hopeful  family,  another 
woman  came  stalking  up  the  road.  Very  lean,  very 
yellow,  with  a  very  low  forehead,  and  very  cross  eyes,  she 
was  quite  ugly  enough  Avithout  the  peculiar  expression 
induced  by  the  powerful  magnetic  attraction  appearing  to 
exist  between  the  outer  corners  of  mouth  and  eyes.  "What's 
to  pay  ?"  said  she,  glancing  inquisitively  at  the  children  in 
their  elegant  attire. 

"  Why,  you  see,  neighbor  Jones,"  said  Mrs.  Toole,  "Bridget 
is  coming  up  to-day,  an'  I  was  wanting  to  git  the  young  'uns 
tidied  up  a  bit,  to  let  her  see  how  nice  we're  thriving. 
They're  a  pretty  tolerable  set,  considering." 

"  Uncommon  children,"  answered  Mrs.  Jones,  in  a  quick, 
nervous  manner.  "  I  wish  to  mercy  my  children'd  nudge 
about  as  good-natured  as  yourn.  They're  forever  in  some 
sort  o'  wrangle  or  t'other.  You  have  easy  times  of  it,  that's 
a  fact." 


KATE    WESTON.  99 

"Don't  stand  outside  there,"  said  Mrs.  Toole,  "just  step 
into  the  parlor;  Mike,  now,"  added  she,  giving  the  oldest 
boy  a  thump  upon  the  head,  "  how  dare  you  be  afther  turning 
a  somerset  with  your  Sunday  clothes  on  ?  Do  it  again,  an' 
I'll  lick  you.  Can't  you  keep  decent  more  nor  five  minutes 
together  ?  Och,  I'll  settle  yiz,  if  ye' re  afther  making  yourselves 
all  of  a  muss  afore  your  Aunty  comes."  So  saying,  she  bust 
led  into  the  house,  followed  by  her  vinegar-faced  companion, 
and  enforcing  her  threat  by  a  shake  of  her  doubled  fist .  out 
of  the  parlor  window. 

"  Dear  me,"  commenced  her  visitor,  raising  both  hands  in 
astonishment,  "  you've  got  a  carpet  on  your  floor.  Massey 
me,  wouldn't  I  like  to  see  Eben  a  gitting  of  a  carpet  ?  He 
holds  on  to  the  money  mighty  tight.  Now,  I  couldn't  git  a 
carpet  o'  him,  if  I  was  to  go  down  on  my  knees  to  him. 
And  do  see  those  chairs,  all  painted  up  so  bright.  Catch 
him  a  painting  up  his  chairs.  But  some  folks  has  easy  times 
of  it!"  Here  the  aggrieved  lady  rolled  up  her  eyes  in 
resignation  to  her  fate,  and  brisk  Mrs.  Toole  smiled  as  she 
answered. 

"  Faith  now,  and  Teddy  is  afther  gitting  all  these  things 
new  last  month.  It's  niver  a  ha'porth  I  ax  him  for,  but  ho 
fetches  straight  home  til  me.  The  other  day  I  sez  to  him, 
'Now  Pathrick  hinny,'  sez  I,  'we've  got  as  dacent  a  lot 
o'  childher  as  ye'd  see  atween  here  an'  New  York,  only  they 
want  fixing  up  a  bit.  Couldn't  you  take  a  little  out  iv  the 
money  you've  laid  up,  an'  buy  a  bit  o'  something  to  put  upon 
their  backs.  Sure,  I'd  like  to  see  them  looking  a  little  gin- 
teel,  as  well  as  other  folkses  childher  ?  Well,  what  did  the 
darlint  do,  but  go  straight  away  an'  buy  apiece  iv  the  very  best 
check  til  make  them  new  aprons,  an'  six  yards  of  woolen  plaid 
till  make  new  suits  for  the  boys.  I  said  when  he  got  home, 
sez  I,  '  Now,  childher,  if  you  don't  walk  mighty  straight  in 
your  new  clothes,  I'll  be  into  ivery  blissed  mother's  son  iv 
yiz,'  an'  they  all  the  time  a  capering  an'  a  hopping  about  the 


100  KATE    WESTON  • 

house,  an'  Teddy  jist  standing,  and  looking  on,  so  delighted 
like,  an'  niver  saying  a  word." 

"  Well  now,  I  declare,"  sighed  her  companion,  with  another 
gesture  of  resignation.  "  But  some  folks  is  born  to  be  lucky ! 
My  young  uns  han't  seen  the  color  of  a  new  suit,  not  all  of 
'em  together,  since  the  day  they  were  born.  I'm  forever 
patchin'  on  'em  up,  with  some  o'  their  daddy's  old  clothes, 
an'  now  an'  then,  he  gits  'em  some  gimcrack  or  other  just  to 
satisfy  'em.  Did  you  say  as  how  Bridget  was  a  comin'  up 
this  afternoon  ?" 

"Sure,"  answered  her  friend,  "an'  it's  expectin'  her  ivery 
minute,  I  am  now.  Bliss  her  soul,  it's  niver  a  sorry  heart  can 
stay  long  wi  her  jolly  face.  Be  the  blissed  Vargin,  but 
there  goes  that  young  spalpeen  a  kickin'  up  his  heels  agin. 
He'll  be  afther  ruinin'  hisself  intirely.  Jist  now,  Mikey,  I'll 
break  your  blissed  head,  if  you  dare  to  turn  another  somerset 
till  you're  out  of  bed  to-morrow  morning." 

The  white-headed  boy  brought  himself  square  upon  his 
feet  at  this  terrible  announcement,  but  seemed  not  the  least 
disconcerted,  considering  the  excessive  improbability  of  his 
being  able  to  keep  himself  straight  for  such  an  unreasonable 
length  of  time. 

"  Goodey  gracious !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Jones,  "  I  think  you 
have  mighty  easy  times  with  your  children,  when  you  can 
make  'em  mind  like  that.  There  isn't  a  day  o'  my  life,  I 
don't  give  all  mine  a  wollopin',  but  it  don't  do  a  bit  o'  good. 
They  cant  about,  an'  tip  over  the  chairs,  an'  ride  on  the  tables, 
an'  pull  the  rooster's  tail,  an'  chop  off  the  cabbages  till  I'm 
a'most  crazy  wi  H  their  carryin's  on.  I  do  think  sometimes 
I  shall  have  to  gi>e  up  in  despair,  and  then  I  get  all  out  o' 
patience  agin,  an'  whop  'em  about  enough  to  make  'em  the 
blessedest,  good-natur'dest  creeturs  in  all  the  Univarse.  An' 
for  all  that,  there's  no  livin'  with  'em.  I  have  mighty  hard 
times  of  it,  I  can  tell  you."  The  unhappy  suiferer  finished 
off  with  a  lugubrious  shake  of  the  head,  inducing  a  belief  in 


KATE    WESTON.  101 

her  listener  of  her  actually  having  the  hardest;  times  that  ever 
might,  could,  would,  or  should  be. 

"  Och,  I  kin  manage  aisy  enough,"  answered  the  other ; 
"  my  childher  always  mind  fast  enough  when  T  spake ;  to  be 
sure,  I  have  it  to  say  til  them  over  an'  over  agin,  but  childher 
is  childher,  an'  there's  niver  a  bit  o'  use  in  expectin'  iv  them 
til  act  like  men  an'  women.  Kitty,  Kitty,  stop  a  diggin'  your 
fingers  in  the  dirt,  or  I'll  be  out  there  afther  you.  Kape 
yourselves  clane,  ivery  one  iv  yiz,  agin  your  Aunty  comes." 

The  command  fas  lost  upon  the  children,  for  Michael,  at 
this  moment  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  stout,  wholesome  look- 
ing figure  parading  down  the  road,  uttered  a  shout  of  triumph, 
and  utterly  forgetful  of  his  mother's  threat,  turned  one  ecsta- 
tic somerset,  and  galloped  up  the  road,  with  Kitty,  Maggie, 
and  Patrick  at  his  heels,  while  little  Johnny  and  Biddy  trotted 
on  behind,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  keep  pace  with  their  older 
brothers  and  sisters. 

"  Och,  bliss  all  the  darlint  sowls  o'  yiz,"  cried  Biddy,  catch- 
ing the  two  foremost  in  her  arms,  and  imprinting  a  hearty 
smack  upon  their  fat  cheeks.  "How  are  ye  all?  Jist  for  all 
the  world  like  a  lot  iv  splindid  cabbage-roses.  How's 
daddy,  Mike  ?  an'  mammy  ?  Jist  come  over,  here,  you  Mag 
an'JPat;  aren't  you  ashamed  o'  yourselves  til  come  away  an' 
lave  them  blissed  little  angels  til  trot  along  by  .theirselves  ? 
Here  Biddy  hinny,  I've  got  sugar-plums  for  ye,  an'  for  all 
iv  yiz,  when  ye're  oncet  at  home."  So  saying,  the  happy 
laundress  bore  down  upon  the  cottage  with  a  niece  on  one 
arm,  and  a  nephew  on  the  other,  all  three  with  a  broad  grin 
of  satisfaction  upon  their  faces,  while  the  no  less  delighted 
mother  stood  at  the  gate  waiting  to  welcome  her  guest. 

"  Well  now  Biddy,  how  are  ye  ?"  she  cried,  catching  her 
hand,  and  shaking  it  heartily  as  soon  as  the  two  children  were 
deposited ;  "  lookin  like  a  cricket,  I  declare.  I  needn't  til  ax 
you."  Upon  this  there  came  quite  a  little  shower  of  ques- 
tions, followed  by  a  larger  shower  of  sugar  plums,  amid  smiles 


102  KATE    ^ESTON*. 

shouts  and  kisses,  on  the  part  of  the  whole  family  in  general, 
not  to  mention  grunts  and  somersets  on  the  part  of  Michael 
in  particular,  who  could  not  for  his  life  avoid  using  them  as  a 
sort  of  escape-valve  for  his  superfluous  delight. 

Hat  and  shawl  having  been  laid  aside,  and  the  questions 
of  more  immediate  importance  answered  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  parties,  brisk  Mrs.  Kitty  grew  very  anxious  to  exhibit 
to  Miss  Biddy  the  novelties  of  her  menage,  of  which  fact  the 
latter  being  perfectly  aware,  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  practi- 
cable, "  Well  Kitty,  can't  ye  be  afther  telliqg  a  body  what  ye 
've  got  since  I  was  here  ?  A  power  o'  fine  things,  I'm  sure, 
be  the  looks  iv  yiz,"  at  the  same  time  casting  admiring  glances 
upon  the  bran  new  suits  of  the  children,  and  the  smart  carpet 
on  the  parlor  floor. 

"  Why  Biddy,"  said  her  sister-in-law  in  a  cheerful  tone, 
"  you  see  the  way  iv  it  was  this.  The  other  day  Teddy  comes 
into  the  kitchen  with  his  face  all  of  a  grin,  an'  sez  he,  'Kitty,' 
sez  he,  'would  ye  be  afther  likin'  a  new  carpet  for  the  parlor? 
I've  bin  a  lookin'  af  some.'  '  An'  Patrick,  hinny,'  sez  I,  '  but 
I'd  be  greatly  plazed  with  that  same.  Sure,  now  you've  got 
sivinty  five  dollars  laid  up,  it  wouldn't  be  foolish  on  you  til 
buy  one." 

" '  Kitty,'  sez  he, '  have  ye  been  intil  the  parlor  this  morn- 
ing f  '  No,'  sez  I,  '  it's  niver  a  fut  I've  laid  inside  iv  it.  An' 
sure  it  took  me  the  whole  day  to  milk  the  cows  an'  churn  the 
butter.'  '  Jist  come  in  a  minnit  thin,'  sez  he,  '  an'  see  how 
much  it  would  take  til  cover  the  floor.'  So  I  went  a  briskin' 
in  afther  him,  an'  there  was  this  splindid  carpet  spread  all 
over  so  nice  an'  smooth,  an'  thim  six  new  chairs.  Faith,  an' 
what  did  I  do,  but  jist  drop  down  intil  one  iv  thim,  an'  begin 
til  cry  for  delight  intirely.  Somehow  all  iv  a  suddint  it  come 
back  til  me,  how  Teddy  used  to  be  afther  spinding  ivery  blis- 
sed  cent  he  aimed  for  the  dhrink,  carin'  niver  a  bit  for  his 
wife  an'  childher,  as  long  as  the  crathur  had  a  howlt  iv  him, 
an'  how  we  had  many's  the  time  to  go  hungry  an'  cowld, 


KATE    -WESTON.  103 

with  no  coverin'  barrin  a  bit  iv  miserable  rags,  an'  how  the 
poor  childher  used  to  cry,  an'  run  away  up  the  street  whiniver 
they  heard  their  father  a  coming.  Och,  but  it  was  a  blissed 
day  we  iver  came  out  to  Laconia ;  the  blissedest  day  for  us, 
we've  seen  since  we  came  out  of  owld  Ireland." 

Biddy  thought  of  the  new  saloon,  and  a  sudden  little 
twinge  caught  at  her  heart,  but  she  battled  it  off,  and  looked 
quite  as  happy  as  her  sanguine  sister,  who  tried  to  keep  back 
two  or  three  obstinate  tears  that  would  trickle  down  her  sun- 
burnt face.  All  this  time  Mrs.  Jones  was  fully  occupied  with 
the  conversation,  and  the  children  were  equally  busy  with 
their  treasures.  At  this  point,  Mrs.  Jones  put  in  a  word  of 
surprise.  "  Bless  my  soul,  who'd  ha'  thought  you  was  ever 
so  bad  off  as  that,  now  ?  But,  dear  me,  your  Teddy  was 
never  the  cross-grained  feller  my  Eben  is  at  all.  I  dessay  I've 
got  worse  times  than  you  ever  had." 

"  Why  neighbor  Jones,"  said  Biddy,  "  it's  sorry  I  am  to 
hear  ye've  niver  got  rid  iv  yer  throubles  yit." 

"  But  I  havn't  shown  you  the  half  iv  my  new  things,"  said 
Mrs.  Kitty,  leading  the  way  into  the  kitchen.  This  apartment 
served  the  purposes  of  cooking,  eating,  working,  playing,  and 
all  other  occupations  in  which  the  family  happened  to  be 
engaged.  The  floor  was  smooth  and  white,  the  cupboard 
presented  an  imposing  array  of  well-brightened  pewter  mugs 
and  pitchers,  and  the  "chayney,"  the  epithet  bestowed  upon 
a  set  of  blue  earthenware,  was  ostentatiously  ranged  on  the 
upper  shelves  to  be  used  only  when  company  were  present. 
Everything  about  looked  cosy.  The  stove  was  blackened,  the 
kettle  was  singing  cheerfully  aw'ay,  the  table-cloth  was  spread 
upon  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  everything  bore 
marks  of  having  been  rubbed  up  for  the  occasion. 

Mrs.  Toole  looked  up  to  her  sister-in-law  as  to  a  loving 
mother,  and  took  the  same  pleasure  in  showing  off  her 
various  household  treasures,  even  to  iron  pots  and  tin  steam- 


104  KATE    WESTON. 

ers,  in  all  which  minor  particulars  her  guest  took  as  deep  an 
interest  as  could  have  been  expected 

"  But  won't  Teddy  be  afther  crowin'  when  he  catches  a 
sight  iv  you  ?"  said  the  bustling  little  housewife,  proceeding 
in  her  preparation  for  tea  by  ranging  along  upon  the  table 
the  whole  set  of  "  chayney "  for  children  and  all,  regardless 
of  the  breakage  that  might  ensue.  "  He  knows  niver  a  word 
iv  yer  coming  at  all,  at  all.  It  was  Mr.  Edward  hisself  told 
us  this  very  afternoon.  Kitty,  Kitty,"  she  called,  popping 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  "  jist  run  down  an'  fetch  up  them 
stewed  pears,  an'  the  butter,  there's  a  hinny." 

"  The  children's  forgot  about  you  aready ;"  remarked  Mrs. 
Jones,  a  little  envious  of  the  hold  the  new  comer  had  on  all 
hearts ;  "  that's  just  like  mine,  han't  got  no  more  feelin'  nor  a 
stone.  You  might  die,  and  they'd  forget  it  next  minnit." 

"Och,  an'  I'm  afther  sending  iv  them  out  to  tell  their 
father,"  cried  Mrs.  Toole,  "I  couldn't  have  them  tumbling 
about  undher  my  feet  when  I  was  wanting  a  quiet  talk  wi' 
Biddy.  He'll  be  along  jist  directly  now.  There,  sure  the 
tay's  ready,  all  but  the  biscake,  an'  I  won't  be  taking  on'em 
out  till  he's  here,  or  they'll  all  get  cowld." 

And  a  very  tempting  tea  it  was.  Golden  butter,  stewed 
pears,  some  slices  of  cold  ham,  a  tremendous  custard-pudding, 
and  the  biscuit  that  were  yet  to  come,  would  have  formed  a 
repast  that  an  epicure  would  have  relished.  But  when  we 
take  into  account  the  happiness  of  a  reunion,  the  consciousness 
of  ease  and  plenty,  contrasted  with  the  poverty  and  heartsick- 
ness  of  years  gone  by,  the  pride  of  a  well  ordered  home,  the 
love  that  is  always  looking  for  some  new  mode  of  manifesta- 
tion, it  was  a  repast  that  many  a  prouder  home  might  have 
longed  and  striven  for,  and  never,  although  aided  by  wealth 
and  rank,  been  able  to  attain. 

Matters  having  been  thus  satisfactorily  arranged  in  the 
kitchen,  the  ladies  returned  to  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Jones,  who 


KATE    WESTON.  105 

had  an  eye  to  the  tempting  table,  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry 
whatever,  notwithstanding  her  family  of  troublesome  children 
at  home.  Mrs.  Kitty,  being  a  little  warm  with  trying  to  blow 
the  fire,  took  a  seat  opposite  the  window,  commanding  a  view 
of  the  road  down  which  her  husband  was  to  come,  like  a 
loving  wife  as  she  was,  and  commenced  fanning  herself  with 
her  apron. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  cried  Kitty,  poking  her  head  in  at  the 
window,  "  Johnny's  afther  pulling  off  all  the  big  marigolds, 
won't  ye  plaze  call  him  in." 

"  Johnny,"  cried  she,  in  a  tone  that  might  have  been  the 
forerunner  of  a  terrible  punishment,  "  come  in  here,  till  I  give 
you  a  bating.  Come  right  in.  Och,  you  little  spalpeen,  how 
dare  you  ?"  As  the  last  words  were  uttered,  she  caught  the 
" little  spalpeen  "  in  both  arms,  giving  him  the  promised, beat- 
ing with  a  pair  of  lips  that  must  have  been  very  powerful, 
judging  from  the  noise  they  made,  then  resuming  her  seat, 
she  winked  at  Bridget,  saying  in  an  under  tone,  "  He  is  the 
smartest  little  chap  now,  that  iver  ye  saw,  Biddy.  Why 
wasn't  it  only  yestherday,  sez  I  to  Teddy, '  now  Teddy,'  sez  I, 
'meself  will  just  leave  the  chaze  in  the  far  cellar  for  fear  iv  the 
mice ;'  sure  an'  I  left  it  there,  and  when  I  went  afther  the 
same,  wasn't  it  all  gone  intirely  ?  and  didn't  I  ax  ivery  one  iv 
the  childher,  Mike,  an'  Kitty,  an'  Pathrick,  an'  Mag,  an'  niver 
think  iv  axin  Johnny,  an'  didn't  the  little  spalpeen  come  over, 
an'  stick  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  an'  look  so  sly  ?  Then  I 
axes  him, '  Johnny,'  sez  I, '  do  you  know  where  the  chaze  be'sF 
an'  didn't  the  weeny  fox  jist  open  up  his  mouth,  an'  put  his 
fat  finger  half  way  down  his  throat  til  show  me  ?  O,  the 
young  " 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Kitty,  who  had  been  now  and  then  look- 
ing up  the  road,  uttered  a  short  quick  cry,  "  Och,  och,  o — och !" 
and  dropped  very  far  back  in  her  chair. 

"  What  is  the  matther  wid  ye  ?"  cried  Biddy,  running  up  to 
her,  and  holding  her  head.  "  Is  it  sick  ye  are,  Kitty  ?" 

5* 


KATE    WESTON. 

Poor  Kitty  didn't  answer,  only  opened  her  eyes  and  tried 
to  speak.  Failing  in  this,  she  veered  off  into  what  -would 
have  been  in  any  fashionable  lady  a  regular  fit  of  hysterics, 
but  what  in  Mrs.  Kitty  Toole,  could  not  possibly  have  had  a 
name  at  all.  "  Jist  unhook  her  gown,"  cried  Biddy,  as  Mrs. 
Jones  came  up,  "  Bless  her  sowl,  what  on  earth's  come  over 
her  ?  She'll  be  afther  faintin'  if  we  don't  look  out."  Just 
then  Mike  came  dashing  in  with  a  whole  troop  at  his  heels, 

and  began  "  Mother,  mother,  father's  " ;  upon  seeing  the 

peculiar  state  of  affairs,  he  stopped  short,  forgetting  the  pur- 
port of  his  communication,  in  the  sudden  start  at  seeing  his 
mother  in  such  an  apparently  critical  situation.  After  a  little, 
the  two  eldest  became  alarmed  and  set  up  a  yell,  which  was 
very  soon  chorused  by  the  rest,  to  the  no  small  discomfiture 
of  Aunt  Biddy. 

"  Whist,  hinnies,  whist,"  she  began,  "  Mother" —  but  the 
young  hopefuls  commenced  in  a  second  strain  with  more  spirit 
if  posssible  than  before.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  in  came  the 
cause  of  all  the  trouble,  poor,  good-natured  Teddy,  staggering 
along  to  where  the  two  Avomen  were  busy  with  his  wife.  At 
sight  of  him,  the  half-dozen  children  stopped  short  in  the 
midst  of  a  tremendous  scream,  Mrs.  Jones  looked  astonished, 
Kitty,  who  had  somewhat  recovered,  sat  gazing  with  glassy 
eyes  upon  the  reeling  form,  and  Biddy  stood  with  her  hands 
clasped,  the  image  of  despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter  wid  yiz  all  ?"  he  cried,  catching  hold 
of  a  chair,  "  why  Biddy,  hinny,  how  are  ye  ?  Sorra's  the  day 
ye  sint  me  away  from  ye,  Biddy.  Shake  hands  Biddy.  Ye're 
me  mother,  Biddy,  sure  ye  was  always  me  mother."  Here 
the  speaker  reeled  himself  down  into  a  chair,  with  his  head 
hanging  down,  while  his  sister  stood  there  before  him,  with- 
out speaking  or  moving  for  some  minutes.  At  length  her 
heart  found  utterance  in  slow,  broken  words,  "  Och,  Teddy, — 
Teddy, — an'  was  it  for  this  I've  had  ye  for  iver  an'  always  at 
the  very  core  iv  me  heart,  a  prayin'  for  ye,  an'  toilin'  for  ye, 


"  Whist,  hinnies,  whist,"  she  began,  "  Mother1'— but  the  young  hopefuls  commenced 
in  a  second  strain  with  more  spirit  if  possible  than  before.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  in 
came  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  poor,  good-natured  Teddy,  staggering  along  to 
where  the  two  women  were  busv  with  his  wife.  P.  IOC. 


KATE    WE8TOX.  107 

an'  bearin  wid  ye  in  all  yer  folly  ?  Sure  ye  were  safe  away  out 
iv  die  net,  an'  ye  couldn't  kape  yerself  away,  and  whin  ye 
were  aftlier  gettin'  along  so  smart,  and  fixin'  up  so  conifortal 
wid  yer  wee  house,  and  yer  nice  garden,  and  yer  wife  an' 
childher  lookin'  as  fine  as  any  gintleman's,  an'  friskin'  like  so 
many  butterflies — an'  yer  coinin'  home  ivery  night  to  a  happy 
family;  no  more  hunger,  no  more  cowld,  no  more  throuble  au' 
misery  iv  sowl — all  pace,  an'  joy,  an'  contint — an'  all  clane 
gone  intirely !" 

"  But  it's  not  you,  Pathrick,"  she  wailed,  as  the  tears  streamed 
over  her  face,  "  I  know'd  it,  I  know'd  it ;  och  Ameriky,  Amer- 
iky  !  ye've  niver  a  spot  in  all  yer  broad  bosom  to  shel- 
ther  the  likes  iv  him.  Ye  may  talk  of  openin'  yer  doors  to 
the  poor  son  iv  Ireland  when  the  cruel  hunger  is  dhriving 
him  from  the  home  of  his  father's,  but  sure  an'  it  is  worse 
than  farnhie  here,  O — O — ch  !" 

The  children,  who  had  stood  quiet  during  this  outpouring 
of  poor  Biddy's  soul,  being  headed  by  Mike,  commenced 
where  they  had  abruptly  left  off,  in  a  manner  that  would  not 
be  controlled.  Their  father  lifted  up  his  head,  looking  stupidly 
about,  and  muttering,  "  What  are  ye  at  now  ?  afther  makin' 
such  a  blarmed  row." 

Biddy  seeing  that  she  alone  was  to  be  depended  upon,  after 
a  vast  amount  of  persuasion,  succeeded  in  getting  her  brother 
to  bed,  and  the  children  settled  about  the  supper-table,  where 
they  soon  forgot  their  troubles  in  the  good  things  that  were 
set  unreservedly  before  them.  As  for  the  rest,  poor  things, 
they  hadn't  the  heart  to  touch  a  mouthful.  Kitty  sat  just 
where  she  was  until  her  husband  was  in  bed,  and  Mrs.  Jones 
had  gone  home,  wondering  if  it  could  be  a  real  fact  that 
"that  stuck  up,  conceited  Kitty  Toole  had  actually  had  a 
fall." 

She  sat  there  all  the  time  that  Biddy  was  clearing  away  the 
supper,  and  putting  the  kitchen  in  order.  While  the  cow  was 
milked,  and  the  pans  were  set,  while  the  children  were  being 


108  KATE    WESTON. 

undressed  and  carried  off  to  bed,  just  as  fixed  and  rigid  as 
ever. 

Poor  Kitty  Toole !  The  door  was  opened,  and  she  could 
see  the  path  they  had  to  tread,  and  the  companions  of  their 
journey,  drunkenness,  poverty,  sickness,  toil,  guilt,  death ! 
Well  might  she  gaze  with  that  stony  glance,  down  such  an 
avenue,  leading  to  such  an  end ! 


KATE   WESTON.  109 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  fire  was  burning  in  the  chimney  as  before.  The  irons 
were  brightly  polished,  the  hearth  was  clean,  the  chandelier 
was  brilliantly  illuminated,  the  decanters  glistened  along  the 
shelves,  the  luscious  fruit  lay  upon  the  counter.  Newspapers 
were  scattered  round  upon  the  marble  tables,  and  large  arm- 
chairs looked  friendly  to  repose.  The  door  was  standing 
open,  the  window-blinds  were  up,  displaying  to  the  chance 
passer  such  fruit  and  such  pastry  as  Laconia  had  never  seen 
before. 

Jt  was  just  at  the  dusk  of  evening.  Laborers  that  hurried 
by  in  red  flannel  and  corduroy,  looked  into  the  bright  win- 
dows, and  then  at  their  plebeian  dress,  inwardly  resolving  to 
return  when  supper  was  over,  with  newer  boots  and  cleaner 
clothes.  Children  put  their  faces  against  the  glass,  gazing 
with  hungry  eyes  upon  the  cream-cakes,  oysters,  oranges, 
grapes,  as  though  they  wished  the  forbidding  pane  were 
gone.  Women  looked  longingly  into  the  brilliant  room, 
and  thought  it  an  infringement  of  their  rights  that  only  the 
other  sex  were  invited  to  enter.  Now  and  then  one,  some 
thoughtful-looking  woman,  or  some  grave-faced  man,  passed 
with  a  shadow  gathering  on  the  face,  and  anything  but  a  bles- 
sing rising  in  the  heart. 

The  worthy  proprietor  of  the  establishment  bustled  about, 
re-laying  some  delinquent  orange  that  had  rolled  upon  the 
floor,  or  giving  a  finishing  touch  to  some  ornamental  flower- 
basket  that  lay  heaped  with  the  choicest  dahlias  interspersed 
with  boxwood  and  myrtle,  and  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
green  moss,  gathered  from  the  neighboring  wood. 


110  KATE    WE8TON. 

But  Mr.  Gamp  was  not  the  only  individual  bustling  about 
the  institution.  A  Jboy  of  some  sixteen  or  seventeen  years 
hurried  back  and  forth  from  the  cellar  to  the  saloon,  expedit- 
ing the  freezing  of  the  cream,  the  opening  of  the  oysters 
&c.  &c.,  and  never  stepped  across  the  sill  without  looking  at 
his  companion.  He  seemed  to  draw  life  from  the  presence  of 
that  gentleman,  so  close  was  the  watch  he  kept  iipon  his 
motions,  so  evidently  was  he  afraid  to  stir  without  his  sanc- 
tion. The  poor  boy  looked  pale  and  thin,  as  though  fretted 
away  with  anxiety  and  trouble.  There  was  not  a  line  about 
his  face,  nor  a  motion  of  his  figure  that  did  not  remind  one 
of  some  shadow  that  had  fallen  on  the  boy's  life,  some  inde- 
finable terror  that  always  brooded  over  him,  awake  or  asleep, 
as  though  he  walked,  ate,  slept  in  some  vague  dream  from 
which  he  had  no  power  to  awake. 

"  Come,  Bill,"  said  Mr.  Gamp,  "  is  that  Madeira  up  from  the 
cellar  yet?  You  young  vagabond,  why  don't  you  obey 
orders  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  fetch  that  an  hour  ago  ?  What 

the do  you  stand  there  gaping  about  ?     I'll  take  the  hide 

off  your   back   if  you   can't   dispense   with   that  detestable 
stare." 

The  boy  turned  upon  his  heel  without  a  word.  A  very 
peculiar  smile  played  about  his. master's  very  peculiar  mouth 
as  he  disappeared,  while  that  gentleman  muttered,  "  Oh,  oh- 
yes,  maybe  he  will." 

Having  arranged  everything  to  the  nicety  of  a  hair,  Mr. 
Gamp  dropped  into  one  of  the  luxurious  chairs,  and  began 
reckoning  something,  gazing  all  the  time  straight  into  the 
blaze.  Was  any  voice  whispering  to  him  promises  of  wealth 
and  success  ?  "  Twenty-five  by  seven,  Seven  times  five  are 
thirty-five.  Seven  times  two  are  fourteen,  and  three  are  seven- 
teen. One  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  a  week.  Clear 
two  thousand  a  year  at  that  rate."  Again  he  gazed  into  the 
fire.  Was  anything  smiling  from  its  heart  to  bring  that 
strange  smile  out  upon  his  face  ? 


KATE    WESTON.  HI 

The  boy  had  by  this  time  returned,  seating  himself  by 
the  high  desk  at  one  end  of  the  counter,  from  belli nd  which 
he  could  watch  the  muser  unobserved.  He  glanced  at  the 
clock.  Twenty  minutes  after  six.  It  was  time  for  them  to 
begin  coming.  He  cast  his  eyes  towards  the  door.  An 
open-faced  young  man,  not  more  than  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  dressed  quite  commonly,  was  coming  up  the  steps. 

"  Walk  in,"  said  Mr.  Gamp,  coming  forward  to  meet  him 
"  Happy  to  see  you,  sir.  Will  you  look  over  the  papers  ?" 

The  respectful  tone  was  extremely  flattering  to  the  new 
comer,  who  thought  to  himself,  "  Fine  place,  this — treated 
like  a  gentleman.  Liberty  and  equality — that  is  their  motto. 
I  like  such  men.  Shall  drop  in  now  and  then."  He  glanced 
over  the  paper,  after  which  he  turned  to  the  boy,  stamping  on 
the  floor  with  his  foot  and  calling,  "  Here,  boy." 

The  person  addressed  darted  towards  him,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  Gamp. 

"  Bring  me  some  oysters,  and  a  glass  of  soda  water." 

"  Better  try  our  sangaree,"  interposed  Mr.  Gamp,  with  a 
fascinating  smile.  "  Capital,  I  can  assure  you." 

The  young  man  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  shook  his 
head.  "  A  glass  of  soda,  sir." 

His  call  was  answered  in  a  few  moments  by  the  boy,  who 
set  down  before  him  a  steaming  dish  of  oysters,  and  a  glass 
of  the  beverage  for  which  he  had  called.  The  young  man 
fell  to  in  earliest,  but  before  he  was  half  through,  in  walked 
our  friends  of  the  fishing  party,  Messrs.  Reid  and  Myers, 
tapping  their  canes  against  their  teeth,  and  tipping  their  hats 
jauntily  on  one  side. 

"Well,  gentlemen"  said  Mr.  Gamp,  bowing  politely, 
"  what'll  you  take  ?  Oysters  or  cream  \  Rather  cold  for 
cream  now,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  Jove !"  exclaimed  Myers,  "  something  to  warm  us 
up  a  bit,  my  man.  Jim,  are  you  in  want  of  the  needful  ?" 

w  No  thiree,"  answered  his  friend,  "  only  confounded  dry. 


112  KATE    WESTON.      . 

Let's  try  a  little  champagne,  Ned.  I  wouldn't  mind  a  dozen 
raw  oythterth.  Here,  Billy  boy,  jutht  fetch  uth  a  bottle  of 
champagne,  and  a  couple  of  plateth  of  raw  oythterth.  Do 
you  underthtand  ?" 

Billy  boy  nodded  his  head,  and  started  in  the  fulfillment  of 
the  order.  Mr.  Reid  was  in  the  habit  of  assuming  an  air  of 
dignity  that  sat  upon  his  slender  person  very  much  as  a 
crown  might  be  supposed  to  sit  upon  a  puppy's  head.  So 
that  on  the  present  occasion,  although  testifying  his  admira- 
tion at  the  agreeable  state  of  affairs  to  his  companion  by 
sundry  winks  and  nods,  he  did  not  condescend  to  make  any 
remark  upon  the  subject,  further  than  observing  in  a  lofty 
tone — 

"Quite  an  enterprithing  chap,  Ned,"  at  the  same  time 
giving  a  slight  nod  in  the  direction  of  the  obsequious  proprie- 
tor, who  read  his  paper,  and  looked  agreeable  enough  to 
provoke  a  warmer  compliment. 

"  Here,  Jim,  take  some  champagne.  See  how  it  foams. 
Here's  to  your  health,  my  boy,"  exclaimed  Myers,  taking  his 
glass  off  at  a  single  pull.  "  No  namby-pamby,  this — the  gen- 
uine article." 

. "  Deliciouth,"  cried  his  companion,  sipping  it  affectedly. 
"  Couldn't  find  better  at  Taylor'th.  We'll  be  in  a  ficth  when 
we  get  back  to  old  Precth.  Bleth  my  thoul,  he'd  annihilate 
uth,  if  he  knew  we  were  getting  boothy  every  night.  What 
a  lecture  we  would  get." 

"  Remember  the  time  we  smuggled  it  down  the  chimney  ?" 
asked  his  companion.  "  Old  fox  didn't  catch  us  that  time  ; 
we're  rather  too  much  for  Prex  ;  ha,  ha,  ha.  Have  another 
glass,  Jim  ?" 

" Thertainly,"  replied  Mr.  Reid.  "When  did  you  ever 
know  me  to  leave  off  with  the  firtht  glath  ? — but  you've  a  poor 
opinion  of  my  attainmenth.  Herelth  to  the  pretty  Quaker- 
eth." 

"Pretty  Kate  Weston,"  cried  his  companion.     "  Better  not 


KATE   WESTON.  113 

say  much  here  ;  little  Kate  might  get  miffed,  and  that  would 
not  do  at  all.  Seen  Spooney  to-day,  Jim  ?  He  going  to  col- 
lege ?  Won't  he  make  fun  for  the  Adelphi,  vulgarly  styled 
Dolphins  ?" 

"  With  his  lofty  collar,"  remarked  Mr.  Reid.  "  He  only 
thpeakth  when  thpoken  to.  That'th  what  my  granny  would 
call  a  good  boy.  No  doubt  Profth  will  remark  the  thame 
thing.  Oh,  Mithter  Thteele,  you  have  my  betht  wisheth  for 
your  thuctheth." 

"  What  a  deuced  bore,"  said  Myers,  "  to  have  him  for  a 
chum.  If  his  dad  hadn't  been  so  anxious  to  place  him  under 
my  guardianship,  I  should  have  shuffled  him  onto  you.  "  I 
don't  keep  him  more  than  one  term,  I'll  warrant  you.  He'll 
learn  a  thing  or  two  in  that  time,  don't  you  believe  it,  Jim  ?" 
"  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  answered  Mr.  Reid,  "  you're  the  chap  for  the 
money.  You'll  teach  him.  But  it  ith  a  confounded  bore, 
and  no  mi th take.  However,  you  can  make  your  own  fun  out 
of  him.  He'th  one  of  your  regular  book-wormth,  I'll  be 
bound.  I  believe  he  enter'th  the  junior  year." 

"  He'll  escape  being  freshman,"  remarked  Myers.  "  Never 
mind  that ;  if  he  isn't  a  freshman  he's  a  green-man,  at  any 
rate.  It'll  be  all  the  same  for  sport ;  just  get  him  cornered 
sometime  in  an  awkward  box,  and  let  the  Prof,  in  upon  him, 
wouldn't  he  cut  a  figure  now  ?" 

The  two  friends  laughed  immoderately  at  the  possible  event 
upon  which  they  were  calculating,  and  replenished  their 
glasses,  while  the  other  young  man  looked  wistfully  a  number 
of  times  at  the  foaming  wine,  thinking  to  himself,  "  Really 
now,  I  don't  see  what  harm  a  couple  of  glasses  would  do. 
Mother'd  never  know  it.  I  needn't  drink  any  more.  To  be 
sure,  I  don't  want  to  make  her  unhappy.  Mary's  a  little  no" 
tion  for  young  Buswell.  It  would  make  me  sprightlier  and 
handsomer.  'Twould  be  a  pity  to  lose  her  to  that  blubber- 
headed  fellow.  To  be  sure,  I  went  too  far  before  ;  that's  no 
proof  I  shall  do  the  same  thing  now.  I'll  be  very  temperate." 


114  KATE    WE6TOX. 

Having  thus  determined,  he  called  again,  "  Billy,  boy,  I  will 
take  a  glass  of  sangaree." 

"  Rather  expensive,  considering  your  mother,"  whispered 
conscience. 

"  Safer  than  brandy  and  water,"  suggested  prudence. 

"  Better  take  none  at  all,"  conscience  put  in  again. 

But  there  it  stood,  sparkling  and  foaming  before  him,  just 
as  he  had  fancied  it  so  many*  times  when  he  longed  for  it,  as 
he  was  longing  now,  and  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation. 
It  was  placed  before  him.  His  eye  sparkled,  his  hand 
trembled  ;  but  he  put  it  to  his  lips,  and  the  Rubicon  was  passed. 

Others  now  came  flocking  in.  First  came  a  stout,  middle- 
aged  man,  looking  as  though  he  took  delight  in  the  good 
things  of  this  world.  Then  an  awkward,  red-whiskered  fel- 
low, stalking  in  with  a  half  grin  upon  his  face.  Then  Mr. 
Flip,  the  village  lawyer,  and  a  client  from  New  York,  whom 
he  thought  it  advisable  to  conciliate  by  every  means  in  his 
power.  Then  poor  Teddy  Toole,  after  trying  in  vain  to  steer 
safely  by  the  tempting  spot.  Then  Edward  Clarence,  who 
had  dropped  in  for  the  sole  purpose  of  glancing  over  the 
morning  papers,  with  the  bashful  boy  following  in  his  wake. 
Then  a  great  many  more  of  all  classes  and  ages ;  and  last, 
not  least,  a  large,  powerfully  built  negro,  with  a  row  of  teeth 
that  seemed  ambitious  of  exhibiting  themselves  to  the  utmost 
of  their  ability,  and  a  face  indicative  of  any  amount  of  droll 
good  humor  and  unaffected  honesty. 

"  Lame  Joe !"  exclaimed  a  dozen  voices  at  once. 
"  He's  the  man  for  my  chinks,"  cried  Mr.  Wilks,  the  mid- 
dle-aged gentleman.     "Come,  Joe,  I'll  treat  you.     What'll 
you  have." 

Joe's  grin,  if  possible,  was  broader  than  before,  as  he  stood 
for  some  minutes  quite  undecided,  scratching  his  woolly  pate 
with  a  puzzled  air. 

"What's  the  matter,  Joe?"  cried  Wilks,  "can't  you 
decide  t" 


KATE    WESTON.  115 

Joe  only  scratched  away  with  more  vehemence,  and  rolled 
his  black  eyes  over  the  company  as  if  taking  a  very  comical 
view  of  human  nature,  as  then  and  there  die-played. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  exhibit  the  whites  of  your  eyes  ?" 
cried  Myers,  trying  to  look  aristocratic.  "  Genteel  niggers 
never  do  so." 

Joe  turned  awkwardly  round  to  the  young  gentleman, 
remarking, 

"  Law  sakes,  massa,  I  don't  purtend  to  be  genteel.  I  leave 
dat  for  de  dandy  niggers.  He,  he,  he  !" 

"  Well,  Joe,  what  will  you  have  ?"  again  asked  Mr.  Wilks. 
"  Some  brandy  and  water,  or  gin  sling,  or  a  glass  of  punch, 
eh  ?" 

The  darkey  recommenced  scratching  his  head,  in  as  unde- 
cided a  manner  as  ever. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  cried  the  red-whiskered 
Jonathan  Meeks,  losing  patience  at  the  delay. 

"  Why,  I  was  thinking,  'pears  Rosy  won't  like  it  if  I  gits 
tipsy.  I  do'no  now." 

The  general  laugh  induced  by  the  visible  perplexity  of  poor 
Joe,  only  served  to  increase  his  good  nature,  while  Mr.  Reid 
interposed,  "  Oh,  Rothy  won't  care,  Joe.  Rothy'th  a  good 
thoul.  She'll  forgive  you." 

Being  quite  certain  that  Rosy  was  a  good  soul,  Joe  decided 
to  take  a  gin  sling,  which  decision  brought  the  company  back 
to  themselves,  and  their  own  appetites.  Billy  was  kept  run- 
ning for  a  full  half  hour  with  oysters,  porter,  fruit,  Madeira, 
and  brandy  and  water,  while  Mr.  Gamp  kept  up  a  battery  of 
smiles,  bows,  and  well-timed  compliments,  that  caused  the 
company  to  set  him  down  for  a  decidedly  agreeable  fel- 
low. 

Mr.  Reid,  having  by  this  time  taken  enough  to  be  able  to 
lay  aside  a  little  of  his  dignity,  began  to  be  somewhat  com- 
municative. 

"  Mithter  Gamp,  I  thay  you  are  a  public  benefactor,  and 


116  KATE    WESTON. 

ath  thuth,  detberve  the  good  wisheth  of  the  community. 
Pray  what  induthed  you  to  thtart  thith  ethtablithment  ?" 

"  I  was  so  advised  by  Mr.  Dunn,"  replied  Mr.  Gamp,  with 
one  of  his  most  winning  smiles. 

"A  fine  stand  this,  sir." 

"  Capital  stand,"  answered  Myers.  "  Not  another  place  in 
the  whole  neighborhood  where  you  can  procure  a  drop  of 
anything  in  the  way  of  wine  or  even  brandy.  Unenterprising 
place  this." 

The  bashful  boy  took  the  present  occasion  of  frowning  to 
Edward  over  the  .top  of  his  shirt-collar,  while  Edward  deli- 
berately broke  a  cracker  into  his  oysters. 

"Did  you  hear,  Mithter  Myerth,"  said  Reid,  "that  Mith 
Araminta  hath  eloped  with  Marteau.  A  pretty  bithneth  it'll 
be  for  her,  Marteau'th  poor  ath  a  church  mouth,  he'th  been 
gammoning  her  with  great  thtories  about  thouthern  plauta- 
tionth  and  all  that.  She'll  get  thick  enough  of  her  bargain 
in  a  month." 

The  two  young  collegians,  when  alone,  always  addressed 
each  other  as  "Jim,"  and  "Ned,"  but  whenever  others  wore 
present,  endeavored  to  inspire  respect  by  using  the  "Mr." 
before  their  names. 

"  The  deuce,"  cried  Myers,  "  I  had  my  eye  on  her  myself. 
Great  heiress  and  charming  girl.  Marteau's  gambled  all  his 
property  away,  and  he  wants  another  fortune  now.  Shameful 
business  that.  He'll  make  a  wretcn  of  a  husband.  Got  a 
mischief  of  a  temper." 

"  That  ain't  the  beth  of  it  though,"  cried  Reid.  "  They 
thay  her  father'll  cut  her  off  with  a  shilling.  He  loved  her 
half  to  death,  but  he'th  a  very  determind  temper.  Declareth 
he'll  never  thee  her  again." 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  Myers,  "  she'll  have  a'  sorry  time  of  it, 
she's  a  little  fool  to  marry  such  a  chap.  Why  couldn't  she 
wait  for  me  now.  I'd  have  made  her  a  better  husband,  I'll 
be  bound." 


KATE    WESTON.  117 

The  young  man  who  had  first  entered  the  saloon,  having 
finished  his  oysters  and  sangaree,  was  preparing  to  depart, 
when  the  red-whiskered  individual  called  out,  "  Hallo,  Brown, 
you  ain't  going  yet.  Come  sit  down  here,  and  let's  have  a 
little  chat.  It's  an  age  since  I've  had  a  chance  to  see  you." 

The  young  man  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  thinking  it  rather 
early  to  call  on  Mary,  he  sat  down  at  the  table  with  his 
friend.  "  Boy  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Meeks,  "just  bring  us  a  couple 
of  glasses  of  hot  brandy  and  water."  "  Not  for  me,"  said 
young  Brown,  in  a  hurried  manner,  "  nothing  at  all  for  me." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Meeks,  "  can't  you  let  a  fellow  treat  you, 
boy,  when  he's  got  a  chance  ?  You  shall  take  it." 

"  You  must  not  press  me,'vreturned  Brown,  "  indeed  I  can- 
not take  any  more  to  night." 

"Indeed,"  said  Gamp,  just  then  happening  by,  "this  is 
some  of  the  finest  brandy  you  ever  tasted,  sir." 

"  You  won't  be  so  uncivil,"  said  Meeks. 

"  He's  afraid  Mary'll  smell  his  breath,"  said  the  stout 
gentleman.  The  quizzical  looks  with  which  those  in  his 
immediate  vicinity  regarded  him,  decided  the  matter  at  once; 
he  took  the  large  tumbler,  mixed  very  strong,  with  the  deter- 
mination of  not  finishing  it ;  but  it  was  so  invigorating  that 
his  resolution  vanished,  and  by  the  time  that  was  gone,  he 
was  in  a  "plaguy  state  of  indecision,"  as  he  styled  it,  and 
thinking  it  was  now  his  turn  to  treat,  ordered  a  couple  more 
glasses,  after  partaking  of  which  he  was  entirely  oblivious  to 
all  the  danger  he  had  previously  anticipated. 

"Mithter  Clarence,"  said  Reid,  turning  toward  Edward, 
who  sat  at  the  table  immediately  behind  him,  "you  don't 
take  any  wine.  What's  the  matter  ?  Allow  me  to  fill  a  glath 
for  you,  Mithter  Thteele  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Edward,  taking  it  from  his  band.  "  No 
thank  you,"  said  William  Steele,  drawing  back  as  it  was  pre- 
sented to  him,  "  I  never  take  wine." 

A  sly  wink  from  Myers  induced  Reid  to  push  his  invitation. 


118  KATE   WESTON. 

"  I  beg  of  you  not  to  be  fathtidiouth  in  the  prethent  com- 
pany ;  none  of  utli  conthider  it  wrong  to  indulge  a  little  now 
and  then.  Juth  try  it,  if  you  pleath." 

"  Excuse  rae  sir,"  said  William,  coloring  both  from  confusion 
and  indignation.  lie  saw  easily  enough  that  they  were  quiz- 
zing him. 

"By  Jove,"  said  Myers,  "you'll  be  looked  down  upon  in 
college  if  you  put  on  airs,  I  can  tell  you  that,  my  boy.  Bet- 
ter wear  off  a  little  of  the  rust,  come  now.  I'm  your  friend. 
Take  a  glass." 

"  No  sir  !"  cried  Steele  momentarily  rising  out  of  his  timi- 
dity. "  I  told  you  I  never  tasted  wine." 

The  tone  and  manner  rather  astonished  Mr.  Myers,  who 
thought  it  advisable  to  give  up  the  point  immediately.  "  Well 
now,"  thought  Edward,  "  here's  this  bashful  fellow  that  one 
would  imagine  afraid  to  speak  to  his  own  shadow,  doing 
what  I  haven't  the  courage  for.  I  declare  I  feel  a  little 
ashamed  of  myself.  However,  I  don't  believe  in  inevitable 
ruin  directly  anybody  touches  wine.  If  a  person  gets  tipsy, 
it's  his  own  fault." 

The  little  cliques  at  each  table  were  becoming  livelier. 
Voices  were  rising  to  a  higher  pitch,  glasses  rattling,  corks 
popping  to  various  corners  of  the  room,  jokes  cracking, 
knuckles  rapping,  and  poor  Billy  was  dancing  about  the 
room  in  a  state  of  trembling  eagerness,  terribly  afraid  that  he 
might  overlook  some  customer,  and  thereby  draw  down  upon 
himself  the  displeasure  of  one  whose  displeasure  was  to  be 
carefully  avoided.  Reid  and  Myers  were  each,  as  privileged 
characters,  sitting  on  one  chair,  propping  their  feet  on  the 
back  of  another,  with  hats  at  the  peculiar  angle  that  you 
never  see  attained  till  a  man  is  "  half  seas  over,"  and  con- 
versing in  a  strain  that  our  readers  would  consider  both 
unprofitable  and  vulgar.  The  red-whiskered  individual  was 
entertaining  Thomas  Brown  with  the  history  of  a  "  rummy  " 
he  had  known,  who  wallowed  about  for  a  whole  day  and 


KATE   WESTON.  119 

eight  in  a  swamp  a  dozen  yards  square,  at  which  history 
Thomas  Brown  was  rolling  his  head  and  laughing  immode- 
rately. Poor  Teddy  was  emptying  his  pockets  for  his  own 
and  the  public  benefit.  Mr.  Flip,  aftef  giving  the  influence 
of  his  countenance  and  example  to  the  bringing  affairs  to 
this  crisis,  was  remarking  to  his  highly  respectable  client  that 
this  was  no  longer  a  place  for  them,  and  preparing  consequently 
to  take  his  departure.  Boys  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  young 
America,  and  considerably  enlivened  with  wine,  were  walking 
straight  over  Mexico,  annexing  Texas,  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
Cuba,  California,  and  promising  annexation  in  the  course  of 
"  manifest  destiny  "  to  the  rest  of  the  peopled  world.  Com- 
mon-looking men  in  fustian  jackets  were  beginning  to  look 
decidedly  fuddled,  and  two  or  three  had  arrived  at  a  point 
Avhere  Mr.  Gamp  was  compelled  to  exert  his  talents  to  the 
utmost,  in  order  to  keep  them  from  driving  into  one  another 
after  the  approved  method  of  the  most  celebrated  pugilists. 

Mr.  Wilks  had  "  treated  "  Joe  until  he  was  certainly  tipsy, 
whatever  Rosy  might  say,  and  was  now  pressing  him  for  a 
song  in  a  manner  that  was  not  to  be  denied.  The  would-be 
pugilists  becoming  quite  obstreperous,  Mr.  Gamp  announced 
to  the  company  in  general,  and  those  individuals  in  particular, 
that  Joe  would  favor  them  with  "  Dearest  Mae,"  at  the  same 
time  politely  giving  the  quarrelsome  gentlemen  to  understand, 
that  if  they  chose  to  continue  their  appearance  of  animosity, 
their  room  would  be  preferable  to  their  company. 

Joe  accordingly,  in  a  voice  that  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  a  very  musical  bass-organ,  "  favored "  the  company  to 
their  no  small  edification  and  amusement.  He  swung  his 
great  body  backwards  and  forwards,  opening  his  mouth  wide 
enough  to  have  elicited  the  admiration  of  the  first  opera 
critic  of  the  day,  keeping  time  with  both  head  and  heels,  and 
rolling  his  eyes  from  side  to  side  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  theme, 
until  the  tears  fairly  rolled  over  his  face.  At  every  repetition 
of  the  chorus,  the  "  Dearest  Ma — a — ae —  "  was  hailed  by  the 


120  KATE    WESTON. 

delighted  listeners  with  a  burst  of  applause,  and  Joe  con- 
cluded the  piece  amid  a  chorus  of  shouts  and  laughter  that 
was  truly  terrific. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  company  dispersed  with  drunken 
cries  and  unseemly vmirth,  staggering  to  their  different  homes 
with  brains  on  fire,  singing  low  songs,  and  passing  ribald  jests 
to  the  discomfort  of  the  sleeping  villagers,  and  the  unmiti- 
gated delight  of  the  rumseller,  who  had  taken  in  five  Collars 
more  than  on  the  previous  day. 

As  they  went,  one  by  one,  to  their  respective  homes,  down 
lanes  fringed  with  rustling  trees,  through  fields  still  and  pale 
in  the  starlight,  up  between  the  mansions  lining  the  great 
road  of  the  village,  a  shadow  followed  them,  invisible  to  mor- 
tal eye,  but  seen  and  wept  by  angels.  Like  a  black  cloud 
fraught  with  ruin,  that  thing,  of  evil  crept  along,  floating 
around  them  in  the  darkness,  on — on — till  it  settled  on  the 
broken  homes  they  entered,  to  go  no  more  out  for  ever. 

Broken  homes !  for  home  is  where  the  gentle  word  is 
spoken ;  where  the  loving  smile  lights  all  things  with  its  glow  ; 
where  peaceful  hearts  sink  down  to  sleep  at  night ;  where 
ready  hands  and  cheering  tones  uplift  the  sorrowing  spirit ; 
where  fathers  and  husbands  stand  boldly  forth  protecting  gentle 
ones  that  look  to  them  for  help.  And  which  amid  all  these,  is 
found  within  the  drunkard's  dwelling  ?  Who  but  the  drunk- 
ard's anguished  wife  and  weeping  children  stand  pointing  ever 
to  a  broken  home  ? 

That  night  a  widowed  mother  wept,  and  prayed,  and 
groaned  aloud.  All  through  the  dark  hours,  Avhile  her  son 
lay  heedless  of  her  prayers,  she  knelt  beside  his  bed.  Memo- 
ries of  sleepless  nights,  and  darkened  days  came  crowding 
thick  upon  her.  When  the  boyish  foot  was  tangled  in  .the 
mire  of  Intemperance,  when  the  smooth  face  was  bloated,  the 
lithe  form  all  unhinged,  the  open  blue  eye  grown  red  and 
blear,  her  heart  had  died  within  her.  But  that  was  not  like 
this.  Manhood,  proud  and  glorious,  had  dawned  upon  him 


KATE    WESTON.  121 

now.  He  was  no  longer  the  tender  sapling  her  hand  must 
bend  and  bind,  but  the  stalwart  tree  to  which  she  clung.  And 
the  tree  was  breaking.  The  consciousness  of  that  struck  home 
to  her  heart  like  a  living  agony. 

One  other  weeping  woman  stood  beside  her  children,  look- 
ing bitterly  upon  their  innocent  slumbers,  while  her  husband 
snored  away  the  night,  unconscious  of  her  tears.  Her  heart 
traveled  back  to  a  desolate  garret,  cold  and  dark,  where  her 
children  lay  sleeping  in  their  hunger,  with  no  covering  to 
shield  them  from  the  blast  that  swept  between  the  gaping 
boards,  where  she  sat  waiting,  waiting  for  her  husband's  com- 
ing. She  looked  about  her  at  the  happy  home  that  time  and 
drunkenness  must  wrest  inevitably  away,  and  the  protector 
whom  she  could  trust  no  more,  as  wringing  her  hands,  and 
crying  aloud,  she  paced  the  floor  hurriedly  till  morning  smiled 
in  upon  her  wo. 

Other  mothers  and  other  wives  wept  and  prayed  that  night 
over  the  first  downward  step  of  husbands  or  sons.  But  none 
like  them  had  seen  the  beginning  and  the  end.  None  like 
them  could  look  with  prophetic  eye  through  the  long  night 
of  darkness  that  lay  teeming  with  sin  and  wretchedness  before 
them. 


122  KATE    WESTON. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AN  old-fashioned  wagon  stood  before  friend  Weston's  door. 
The  fat,  comfortable-looking  horses  were  whiling  away  the 
time  with  a  little  friendly  intercourse,  judging  from  the  sym- 
pathetic manner  in  which  they  neighed  and  rubbed  each  other's 
heads.  The  only  seat  at  present  in  the  vehicle  was  placed 
about  half-way  back,  flanked  by  a  great  black  trunk,  a  little 
white  one,  a  carpetrbag,  a  basket,  a  bandbox,  and  a  cage  con- 
taining two  exquisite  canaries,  who  hopped  about,  and  sang, 
and  seemingly  enjoyed  to  the  utmost  the  present  peculiar 
state  of  affairs.  Immediately  in  front  of  the  seat  stood  a  low 
chair  intended  for  the  driver,  who  forthwith  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  person  of  lame  Joe,  followed  by  his  wife,  a  pomp- 
ous looking  ebony  lady,  with  a  yellow  handkerchief  tied  turban- 
fashion  about  her  head,  and  a  small  red  shawl  crossed  over 
her  broad  bosom. 

"  Joe,"  said  Rosy,  following  him  to  the  gate,  "  yer  an't  a 
gwine  to  get  nuffin  in  der  way  of  sperrits  now.  Ef  yer  gits 
tipsy,  yer  needn't  come  back  agin  night.  Tink  of  de  way  yer 
was  in  afore.  Law  sakes  it'll  upset  me,  ef  yer  a  gwine  to  cut 
up  in  dat  ere  comboberlatin  manner.  Nebber  seed  nuffin 
like  it." 

"  Don't  be  'feard  now,  Rosy,"  answered  Joe,  rolling  his  eyes 
up  as  a  confirmation  of  his  words,  "jest  'form  me  if  yer  ever 
know'd  me  to  git  drunk  afore  ?  I'se  one  o'  yer  stiddy  nig- 
gers, I  is ;  donno  how  'tis  em  all  goes  a  tetejin'  off  the  first 
chance  they  gits.  Now  yer  knows  I'se  a  stiddy  nigger,  don't 
yer,  Rosy  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  123 

"  But  yer  corned  hum  tipsey  toder  night,"  answered  his 
wife ;  "  dar  an't  no  knowin'  what  dem  regimentals  '11  be  up 
to.  Dey's  arter  yer  money,  dey  is.  'Pears  as  how  dey'd 
git  hold  ob  yer,  if  yer  don't  look  out  for  dar  atteinptible 
tricks." 

"Don't  yoxi  be  afeard  ob  dis  nigger,"  remarked  Joe  deci- 
sively, flourishing  his  long  whip.  "  Rayder  guess  as  how  dis 
nigger  is  cap'l  of  takin'  care  his  sef;  yer's  oilers  so  feared, 
Rosy  ;  nebber  seed  nuffin  like  yer." 

"  Massy-lausy,"  cried  Rosy,  suddenly  recollecting  herself, 
"  young  Missus  hab  bin  a  forgittin'  ob  her  unberil,  an'  like 
enuff  its  gwine  to  rain.  I'll  reposit  dat  article  in  dis  wagon 
remediately." 

Having  thus  expressed  herself,  the  yellow  handkerchief  and 
red  shawl  vanished  in  at  the  front  door,  leaving  Joe  standing 
in  an  intense  admiration  of  the  wearer  of  those  articles,  and 
whistling  to  himself  fragments  of  Lucy  Long,  Dandy  Jim, 
Oh !  Susanna,  and  various  other  melodies  of  the  same  char- 
acter. 

While  Joe  and  Rosy  were  holding  the  above  conversation, 
another  couple  were  engaged  in  as  interesting  a  consultation 
in  the  shady  parlor. 

"•  Now  Kate,  my  sweet  Kate,"  said  Edward  Clarence,  "  I 
shall  miss  you  sadly  this  winter ;  it's  the  first  time  we  were 
ever  apart  so  long.  I'm  afraid,"  he  paused  and  sighed. 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?"  said  Kate,  lifting  her  gentle  eyes  to  his 
face. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Edward,  "  that  perhaps  you  would 
think  less  of  me  when  you  were  amid  the  gaieties  of  the  city. 
You  are  very  young,  Kate,  we  are  both  young,  you  don't 
know  yet  whether  you  love  me  or  not.  You'll  see  a  great 
many  gayer  and  wittier  young  men  than  I,  and  perhaps 
you'll  forget  me." 

He  spoke  thoughtfully,  and  looked  at  the  young  girl  as 
though  never  doubting  that  a  dozen  hands  and  fortunes  would 


124  KATE    WESTON. 

be  humbly  waiting  her  acceptance  the  moment  she  made  her 
appearance  on  the  boards  of  city  life. 

"  Edward,"  said  she,  with  the  very  light  of  her  mother's 
loving  face  playing  over  every  feature. 

"Well,  Kate." 

"  Suppose  you  were  leaving  me  and  going  to  spend  the 
winter  in  New  York ;  no  matter  how  many  lovely  girls  you 
might  meet,  or  how  many  sweet  voices  you  might  hear,  would 
your  heart  go  away  from  me?  Would  you  love  them 
better  ?" 

Edward  decided  that  "  He  might  go  all  over  the  world,  and 
he'd  never  find  another  he  thought  half  so  beautiful  or  half 
so  good." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Kate,  coloring  a  little,  a  very  little, 
"judge  me  by  yourself  then.  I  know  what  city  gentlemen 
are.  Elegantly  dressed,  fastidiously  polite ;  but  bubbles, 
Edward,  by  the  side  of  you.  Not  all — I  don't  mean  all — but 
none  like  you.  Now,  you  see,  I'm  not  such  a  little  fool  as 
you  take  me  for !  Am  I,  Ed  ?" 

"  But  you  are  so  young,"  said  Edward,  meditatively,  "  you 
can  hardly  tell.  They  say,  you  know,  first  love  is  all  a 
fancy." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  smilingly,  "  I  know  it.  Then  you 
think  yours  is  all  a  fancy,  eh  ?  I  see  now  I  shall  have  " 

"Oh!  Kate." 

"Oh!  Edward." 

"  Now  I  know  my  own  mind,  Katie,  better." 

"  Better  than  I  do.  There's  a  compliment.  There  now, 
Ed,  I  think  you've  said  enough." 

Here  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked  with  that 
quiet  smile  into  his  face. 

"  No,  believe  me,  Edward,  I  know  more  about  the  matter 
than  you.  First  love,  as  people  call  it,  is  all  a  fancy.  A  boy 
sees  a  pretty  face  and  says  to  himself,  '  Now,  I'm  almost  a 
man,  and  people  will  think  me  quite  one  if  I  wait  upon  a 


KATE    WESTON.  125 

young  lady.  What  a  pretty  girl  that  is?  How  proud  I 
should  be  for  George  or  Frank  to  joke  me  about  her.  And 
she  is  such  a  divine  creature.'  The  girl  is  as  silly  as  he  is,  so 
they  fall  in  love  directly,  talk  about  undying  affection,  lovo 
in  a  cottage,  and  all  that,  and  in  six  months  go  away  and  for- 
get one  another.  Did  we  do  so  ?  Isn't  it  a  full  dozen  years 
already  since  we  fell  in  love.  When  I  tumbled  into  the  mud 
over  the  barn-yard  fence,  and  you,  in  the  true  spirit  of  chi- 
valry, tumbled  over  after  me !  No,  Edward,  our  love  is  a  sober, 
earnest  kind  of  love  that  isn't  born  of  fancy ;  and  I,  for  one, 
am  not  afraid  of  its  being  killed  by  time,  or  absence,  or  any- 
thing else." 

These  sentiments  accorded  so  exactly  with  his  own,  that 
Edward  was  thoroughly  convinced,  and  looked  into  the  calm 
eyes  and  blushing  face  turned  so-  trustingly  upon  him,  with- 
out a  doubt  of  her  constancy,  though  not  without  a  pang  at 
parting. 

"Kate,  see  what  I  have  brought  you,"  he  answered,  pro- 
ducing a  locket  containing  his  daguerreotype ;  "  not  to  remem- 
ber me  by.  for  I  don't  believe  you'll  forget  me,  but  because  I 
thought  you'd  like  to  have  it  to  look  at,  now  and  then,  when 
you  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare  from  the  round  of  gaiety 
that  you'll  be  running  through  in  New  York." 

There  was  a  curious  look  on  Kate's  face  as  she  gazed 
admiringly  at  the  keepsake,  answering,  "  Edward,  you  have  a 
strange  idea  of  my  character.  Very  different,  I  can  assure 
you,  from  the  true  one.  Do  you  really  suppose  now,  that 
I  shall  take  such  an  interest  in  those  frivolous  amusements. 
You  forget  that  I  am  half  Quakeress." 

"  Nonsense !"  cried  Edward,  "  do  you  imagine  that  I  think 
a  pretty  young  girl  like  you,  just  stepping  upon  the  thresh 
old  of  the  fashionable  world,  with  every  prospect  of  admi- 
ration and  homage  being  paid  her,  is  going  to  mew  herself 
up  in  the  chimney-corner,  darning  stockings  or  paring  apples, 
while  everything  is  life  and  spirit  around  her  ?" 


126  KATE    WESTOX. 

"  I  didn't  say,"  answered  she,  half  laughing,  "  that  I  was 
intending  to  mew  myself  up  darning  stockings  &c.,  did  I  ?  I 
mean  to.be  very  lively,  indeed,  all  winter,  and  to  go  to  every 
place  that  is  worth  visiting  (unless  I  think  it  an  improper 
place),  and  that  will  make  me  all  the  more  delighted  with 
'  sweet  home '  when  I  return.  But,"  she  continued,  in  a  more 
serious  tone,  "  Edward,  it  is  not  to  them  that  I  shall  look  for 
happiness.  That  can  only  be  attained  through  the  medium 
of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit !  Do  you  suppose  my  mother 
isn't  a  happier  woman  than  the  most  fashionable  lady  in  New 
York  ?" 

Mrs.  Weston  being  one  of  those  fortunate  people  who  are 
always  happy,  Edward  could  but  answer  in  the  affirmative, 
at  the  same  time  reminding  her  that  that  lady  was  consider- 
ably older  than  herself,  and  consequently  would  be  less  apt 
to  enjoy  the  more  spirited  amusements  of  young  people. 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate,  "  I  know  that,  but  I  know,  too,  that  if 
I  were  patient  and  gentle  as  she  is,  1  should  be  happier  than 
any  wealth,  or  attention,  or  amusement  could  render  me. 
She  has  taught  me  ever  since  I  could  understand  anything  to 
believe  that  promise  of  One  who  has  all  hearts  in  His  hand, 
'  I  will  keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on 
me !'  That  is  the  secret  of  happiness,  I  have  been  trying  to 
learn  it  for  fifteen  years,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  leave  off 
now." 

"But,  Katie,  dear,"  said  Edward,  "how  many  learn,  and 
learn,  and  as  soon  as  they  get  into  the  whirlpool  of  fashion 
go  along  with  the  current." 

"  You  forget  who  I  had  for  a  teacher,"  said  Kate,  earnestly, 
"  very  few  have  a  teacher  like  my  mother.  She  lives  up  to 
her  teachings,  and  little  as  I  know  of  the  world,  I  know  very 
few,  if  any,  do  that.  When  I  have  her  always  on  my  heart, 
do  you  think  I  shall  forget  her  chief  desire,  the  object  for 
which  she  has  labored  during  the  whole  of  my  lifetime,  in 
one  winter  of  city  life  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  12*1 

"  No,  I  do  not,  Kate,"  he  answered  in  a  burst  of  admira- 
tion, "  I  don't  believe  you  are  capable  of  anything  that  would 
give  your  dearest  friend  a  moment's  uneasiness.  I  don't 
understand  your  feelings  exactly,  but  I  know  you  do  your- 
self, and  that's  enough  for  me." 

Kate's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "But  Edward,  it  isn't 
enough  for  me.  That  is  my  greatest  trouble,  that  you  are 
not  a  Christian.  I  don't  mean  a  Quaker,  but  a  Christian. 
You  might  be  a  Presbyterian,  or  a  Baptist,  or  a  Episcopa- 
lian, or  anything  you  chose,  so  long  as  I  knew  you  were 
looking  to  the  same  goal  I  have  in  view,  and  hoping  for  sal- 
vation through  the  same  medium." 

This  part  of  the  conversation  made  Edward  feel  very 
awkward,  as  he  could  not  think  of  anything  in  the  world  to 
answer,  so  he  felt  greatly  relieved  at  the  appearance  of  Rosy's 
black  face  and  yellow  handkerchief  popping  in  at  the  door. 

"  Goody  gracious,  Missy  Katie,  its  curi's  now,  dat  dat  ere 
fader  ob  yourn  hain't  done  a  writin  ob  his  letter  yet.  It 
would  be  berry  disagreeable  fur  you  to  go  a  'permeatin  down 
to  dat  ere  wharf  in  Newburgh  when  de  boat  was  makin  away 
with  herself."  Having  thus  delivered  her  opinion,  she  pulled 
out  her  head  again,  and  shut  to  the  door. 

Kate  lifted  her  pocket-handkerchief  from  the  table,  and 
displayed  a  small  book. 

"  Here  Edward,  is  my  parting  gift,  I  embroidered  the  cover 
myself." 

Edward  took  it  up,  it  was  beautifully  bound  in  dark  blue 
velvet,  and  upon  its  cover  his  name  was  embroidered  in  Kate's 
golden  hair.  He  opened  the  book.  It  was  a  New  Testa- 
ment. There  were  tears  yet  standing  on  the  pale  cheek,  and 
there  was  a  slight  tremor  in  the  voice,  as  she  whispered,  "I 
ask  nothing  more  of  you,  Edward,  than  to  study  that  daily, 
for  my  sake,  if  you  please,  and  I  will  live,  and  love,  and 
pray  for  yours.  As  for  this,"  she  added,  holding  up  the 
locket,  and  smiling  through  her  tears,  "  I  shall  look  at  it  a 


128  KATE    WESTON. 

dozen  times  a  day,  and  think  every  time  I  see  it,  '  bow  much 
handsomer  he  is  than  any  body  I  see  here.  How  I  should 
like  to  see  him.' " 

She  held  up  her  blushing  face  to  his  for  a  good-bye  kiss, 
while  he  put  his  arm  about  her  for  one  little  minute,  at  the 
same  time  gulping  down  a  very  unmanly  sob  that  was  rising 
in  his  throat,  and  ran  out  of  the  room  without  giving  him 
time  to  recover  himself. 

Mr.  Weston  had  been  writing  a  letter  to  the  gentleman 
whose  guest  Kate  was  to  be  for  the  ensuing  winter,  while  Mrs. 
Weston,  who  had  remarked  to  him  a  full  half  hour  before 
that  the  children  would  like  to  say  good-bye  alone,  was  busy- 
ing herself  with  a  huge  bouquet  of  dahlias  that  Kate  was  to 
carry  from  her  to  Mrs.  Ainslie,  the  sworn  friend  of  her  school- 
girl years,  and  dropping  a  tear  now  and  then  at  the  thoughts 
of  her  own  loneliness  for  three  long  months  of  her  darling's 
absence.  When  she  had  arranged  and  re-arranged,  and  begun 
to  wonder  why  they  didn't  come  out,  she  heard  Kate's  voice 
in  the  hall,  and  this  being  the  signal  for  her  appearance,  she 
stepped  out  just  as  the  white  handkerchief  was  brushing  a 
little  tell-tale  straggler  from  her  eye. 

"  Father,"  cried  she,  stepping  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "  isn't 
the  letter  done  ?  Joe's  afraid  of  being  late." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  coming  deliberately  down 
the  stairs,  "  it's  ready  now,  I'll  put  it  here  just  under  the  cover 
of  the  basket ;  there,  thee  needn't  be  afraid  of  losing  it  now." 
He  adjusted  it  carefully,  tying  down  the  basket  covers  with 
as  much  precaution  as  though  he  had  been  concealing  under 
them  a  treasure  of  immeasurable  value ;  then  taking  both  his 
daughter's  hands  in  his  own,  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  and  with 
some  difficulty,  "  Kate,  my  child,  thou  art  going  away  from  thy 
father  and  mother  for  the  first  time.  I'm  not  afraid  of  thee, 
dear,  not  at  all.  But  we  shall  miss  thee  very  much,  very  much. 
Thou'rt  quite  a  young  lady  now,  and  they  will  draw  thee  into 
ungodly  company,  and  flatter  thee.  But  I  know  very  well 


KATE    WESTON.  129 

thou  hast  a  heart  above  such  things,  and  thy  home  \vill  look 
pleasanter  when  it  is  time  to  return.  Thou  art  so  like  thy 
mother  when  she  was  young  as  thou, — looks,  disposition  and 
all — so  like  thy  mother." 

He  needn't  have  said  that.  She  was  her  counterpart  now, — 
younger,  rosier,  but  still  the  same.  The  same  placid  brow,  the 
same  clear  blue  eye,  the  same  delicate  profile,  the  same  pleas- 
ant mouth,  and  just  now,  the  same  tears  coursing  over  the 
cheek. 

This  speech  over,  there  was  such  a  deal  of  love  to  be  given 
to  the  Ainslies,  besides  the  canaries  and  the  dahlias,  all  of 
their  own  raising;  such  a  number  of  charges  about  such  a 
number  of  things ;  such  a  quantity  of  tears,  and  smiles,  and 
parting  words ;  such  an  adjusting  and  re-adjusting  of  the  big 
black  trunk,  the  little  white  one,  the  bandbox,  and  the  basket ; 
such  a  quiet  sadness  on  the  part  of  Edward  and  Kate ;  such 
a  fear  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Weston  that  Joe  would  not  drive  to 
the  right  wharf,  and  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Weston  that  Kate 
might  take  cold,  or  be  blown  up  by  the  bursting  of  the  boiler ; 
such  a  great  burst  of  tears  on  the  part  of  Rosy  as  she  warned 
her  young  Missis  not  to  "  cut  up  in  any  kin'o  highfalutin  manner 
like  dem  curis  city  folks,  but  to  be  a  good  girl  and  say  her 
prayers ;"  such  an  important  flourish  of  whip  and  reins  on  the 
part  of  lame  Joe,  as  he  dashed  off  with  his  precious  charge ; 
such  a  shower  of  kisses,  and  such  a  waving  of  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs on  the  part  of  the  whole  party,  as  would  have  cheated 
an  uninitiated  observer  into  the  belief  that  the  parting  was 
for  life. 

Notwithstanding  her  father's  fears,  Joe  drove  straight  to  the 
right  wharf,  as  careful  and  a  great  deal  more  proud  of  his 
charge  than  any  fairer  gallant  could  possibly  have  been, 
depositing  Kate  in  the  ladies'  cabin,  placing  her  baggage  in  a 
"  satisfactory  perdition,"  and  marching  away,  feeling  a  little 
sorrowful,  but  almost  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  the  trium- 
phant termination  of  his  undertaking. 
6* 


130  KATE    WESTON. 

On  reaching  New  York,  she  was  met  by  a  young  gentleman 
dispatched  by  her  friends,  who  was  waiting  at  the  wharf  in 
expectation  of  her  arrival. 

When  Kate  entered  the  door,  she  was  caught  in  the  arms 
of  a  cordial,  loving-looking  lady,  and  after  being  half  smoth- 
ered with  kisses,  was  passed  over  successively  to  a  tall,  precise 
young  lady  in  an  astonishing  head-dress,  a  short  one  with  a 
face  all  a-glow  with  pleasure,  a  couple  of  boys,  both  very  bash- 
ful and  very  much  delighted,  and  a  lively,  mischievous  little 
puss  with  black  eyes,  who  hid  behind  her  mother's  skirts,  pre- 
tending to  be  very  diffident,  and  actually  standing  in  fear  of 
no  mortal  alive. 

When  the  happy  party  had  succeeded  in  knocking  her  hat 
all  out  of  shape,  and  satisfactorily  tumbling  her  up  in  a  gen- 
eral manner,  she  was  conducted  to  a  pleasant  room  up  stairs 
by  the  short  young  lady,  who  chatted  away  as  though  she  had 
a  world  of  news  to  tell,  and  only  five  minutes  to  tell  it  in. 

Was  Kate  really  going  to  stay  all  winter  ?  Did  her  father 
say  she  mustn't  go  once  to  the  opera  ?  She  had  so  much  to 
tell  her  about  Clarence,  and  Carlisle,  and  Sophronia,  and 
every  body  else.  Sophronia  had  three  beaus,  "  one  of  whom 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her  for  writing  such  splendid  poetry 
for  the  Opal,  and  the  other  two  for  her  handsome  curls,  and 
fashionable  head-dress,"  this  last  was  accompanied  by  a  mis- 
chievous twist  about  the  mouth.  "  She  was  really  going  to  be 
married  right  away ;  she  knew  it,  for  she  saw  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief she  was  hemming  marked,  S.  M.  Ellis.  She  had  left 
it  loose  on  her  dressing-room  table.  Mr.  Pufton  had  been 
there  ever  so  much  lately  to  see  about  Aunt  Sophy.  Wasn't  he 
a  funny  lover  now  ?  She  quite  envied  Aunty,  that  she  did,  he 
was  such  a  good-natured  comical  soul.  If  she  were  her,  she 
wouldn't  act  so,  she  knew.  Why,  she  wouldn't  need  to  read 
another  line  of  Punch  in  her  life,  if  she  had  his  little  dumpy 
figure  to  laugh  at,  parading  about  so  queerly  all  day  long." 
Here  the  young  lady  burst  into  a  clear  ringing  laugh  that 


KATE    WESTON.  131 

brought  her  mother,  who  was  passing  through  the'hall,  in  to 
see  what  was  the  matter.  "  Why  Kate,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  have  you  been  sitting  there  all  this  time,  and  Alice  never 
taken  off  your  things.  She  is  a  thoughtless  creature." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Ainslie,"  said  Kate,  smiling,  "  it  is  my  own 
fault  altogether.  Alice  has  been  telling  me  the  news,  and  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  my  things." 

"Yes,  it  is  all  her  own  fault,  mother,"  said  Alice,  with 
another  musical  laugh.  "  You  see  I  was  so  hard  at  work  all 
the  time,  and  she  had  nothing  under  the  sun  to  do.  Kate, 
you  are  a  decidedly  lazy,  thoughtless,  incorrigible  girl."  After 
giving  her  visitor  this  pleasant  assurance,  she  commenced 
pulling  off  her  shawl,  untying  her  bonnet-strings,  twisting 
off  her  scarf,  &c.,  &c.,  with  a  rapidity  that  utterly  baffled  all 
that  young  lady's  attempts  to  help  herself;  and  when  she  had 
concluded  that  operation,  she  gave  her  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
kisses,  to  ascertain,  she  said,  "  whether  she  was  sweeter  with 
her  things  off." 

Her  mother  seated  herself  opposite  to  Kate,  for  the  purpose 
of  asking  her  some  thousand  and  one  questions  relative  to 
Mrs.  Weston,  and  telling  some  thousand  and  one  times  over 
how  she  had  been  so  home-sick  for  her  (Kate),  and  Alice  had 
been  so  home-sick  for  her,  and  all  the  children  had  been  so 
home-sick  for  her ;  and  how  they  were  so  dreadfully  afraid 
she  wouldn't  come,  and  how  they  had  waited  patiently  every 
day  for  a  letter,  running  every  time  they  heard  the  bell  ring 
in  hopes  of  seeing  the  postman  at  the  door. 

But,  whatever  bachelors  may  say  about  "  no  end  to  women's 
tongues,"  they  were  finally  through  the  news  and  the  inqui- 
ries, not  because  their  topic  was  exhausted,  but  because  the 
dinner  bell  sounded  imperatively  over  the  lower  railing,  and 
it  was  rather  difficult  to  go  without  eating,  even  for  the 
sake  of  talking  over  such  important  matters  as  those  under 
discussion. 

"  Now  we'll  have  some  fun,"  cried  Alice,  catching  hold  of 


132  KATE    WESTON. 

her  visitor's  hand  and  hauling  her  along  to  the  head  of  the 
staircase.  "  Mr.  Pufton's  home  to  dinner  with  father,  and  it's 
as  good  as  a  museum  any  time  to  see  him  making  love  to 
Aunt  Sophy.  You  mustn't  be  offended,"  she  added,  in  a 
laughing  whisper,  as  they  descended  the  stairs,  "  if  he  kisses 
you.  He's  always  up  to  some  mischief  or  other." 

"  Oh,"  said  her  mother  in  the  same  tone,  "  I  guess  Kate 
knows  Mr.  Pufton  well  enough.  He's  out  at  Laconia  every 
few  months,  and  she's  seen  him  here  every  time  she's  been 
in.  Now,  Alice,"  she  said,  as  they  crossed  the  hall,  "you 
must  behave  yourself,  and  not  set  eveiybody  laughing  at  the 
table,  as  you  usually  do." 

The  gentlemen  were  standing  around  the  table  when  they 
entered.  Alice  led  Kate  softly  up  behind  her  father,  before 
any  one  had  noticed  their  entrance.  He  turned  suddenly 
round,  and  cordially  greeted  his  young  visitor,  declaring 
that  he  was  delighted,  had  been  waiting  so  patiently,  &c., 
&c." 

Mr.  Pufton  uttered  a  characteristic  exclamation  of  surprise 
the  moment  he  saw  her,  and  waited  with  evident  impatience 
for  his  turn  to  welcome  her. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  he  cried,  waddling  up  and  kissing  her, 
""prettier  than  ever.  Never  saw  you  so  charming,  my  dear. 
Grown  quite  a  woman,  too.  Come  to  turn  all  the  beaux' 
heads  this  winter,  child?  How's  father  and  mother?  and 
Rosy  and  Joe  ?  and  Edward  Clarence  ?  He's  a  great  friend 
of  yours,  too,  I  believe,  my  dear  ?  Fine  boy,  Ed,  fine  boy,  my 
dear.  Capital  fellow,  eh  ?" 

He  turned  his  twinkling  gray  eyes  full  upon  her  face  in 
perfect  innocence  of  thought ;  but  a  little  blush  that  was  just 
then  coming,  was  helped  along  considerably  by  an  invisible 
nudge  of  the  elbow  from  Alice,  who  went  off  in  internal 
ecstasies  when  she  saw  the  peculiar  effect  produced  thereby^ 
although  she  stood  looking  as  grave  as  a  judge. 

"  They  are  all  very  well,  sir,"  said  Kate,  trying  hard  to 


KATE    WESTON.  133 

recover  herself,  and  avoiding  an  answer  to  his  last  question. 
"  Father  has  been  troubled  a  little  with  rheumatism,  but  he's 
over  it  now  entirely." 

"  Bad  climate  that  for  rheumatism,"  answered  the  gentle- 
men, as  they  seated  themselves  at  the  table.  "Ought  to 
spend  the  winter  in  the  city,  my  dear.  No  use  this  trying  to 
rough  it  out.  Too  cold  altogether." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech,  he  suddenly  clasped  his 
hands  upon  his  plate,  and  bobbed  his  chubby  face  upon  them 
— a  ceremony  which  he  always  observed  when  grace  was 
said,  to*  the  never-failing  delight  of  Alice,  who  trod  on  Kate's 
toe.  in  a  very  irreverent  manner,  considering  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case. 

Through  the  whole  dinner,  poor  Kate  was  kept  on  the 
verge  of  an  explosion  of  laughter  by  means  of  sundry  winks, 
nudges,  and  pinches  from  the  mischievous  young  lady  at  her 
elbow,  who  lost  no  opportunity  of  showing  off  the  ludicrous 
to  the  best  advantage,  on  the  part  of  everything  and  every- 
body. Mr.  Pufton  fidgeted  very  perceptibly  for  some  five 
minutes  after  they  were  seated,  glancing  nervously  at  the 
door,  giving  a  number  of.  affected  little  .coughs,  and  very  fre- 
quently taking  up  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  rubbing  it 
across  his  mouth.  At  last  the  door  opened,  and  a  digni- 
fied lady  entered,  followed  by  the  young  lady  with  the  head- 
dress. 

Mrs.  Maylie  stepped  gracefully  up  to  Kate*  Weston,  expres- 
sing her  gratification  in  an  agreeable  manner,  and  seating  her- 
self at  the  other  side  of  the  table  beside  her  daughter. 

"  Unexpected  pleasure,  Ma'am,"  remarked  Mr.  Pufton,  look- 
ing so  relieved  at  her  appearance,  that  anybody  would  have 
thought  the  word§  applied  to  her  entrance,  had  he  not  added 
"  A  pleasure  I  didn't  expect  Ma'am,  Miss  Weston's  dropping 
as  it  were  out  of  the  clouds.  All  her  friends  well,  Ma'am, 
quite  well,  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  ask." 

Here  Alice  lifted  the  saltcellar,  and  suddenly  handed  it  to 


134  KATE   WESTON. 

Kate,  at  the  same  time  looking  into  her  eye,  with  so  deter- 
mined a  gravity,  that  she  could  not  keep  her  countenance. 
No  one,  however,  noticing  her,  she  soon  came  to,  but  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  plate  until  she  was  quite  sober 
again. 

Judge  Ainslie  was  a  gentleman  of  dignified  bearing,  tall, 
well  proportioned,  and  decidedly  handsome.  There  was  a 
cordial  affability  in  his  manner,  heightened  by  a  very  plea- 
sant smile  about  his  mouth,  and  a  benevolent  glance  of  his 
dark  eyes,  that  made  him  a  favorite  in  every  circle.  The 
highest  in  the  land  could  but  have  felt,  in  conversing  with 
him,  that  he  was  equal  to  the  highest,  and  the  lowest  would 
have  seen  nothing  in  word  or  manner  to  indicate  that  he  con- 
sidered himself  above  the  lowest. 

It  wasn't  strange  that  such  a  man  should  be  a  kind  of 
idol,  not  only  to  his  own  family,  but  also  to  a  large  circle 
of  friends,  who  esteemed  him  no  less  for  his~lofty  talents  and 
unerring  judgment,  thfen  they  loved  him  for  his  benevolence 
and  intrinsic  worth. 

His  wife  was  one  of  those  few  people  in  the  world,  who 
take  everything  that  befalls  them  from  the  hand  of  a  merci- 
ful Father,  and  see  in  the  merest  trifle,  either  for  good  or  ill, 
the  finger  of  an  overruling  Providence.  But  she  was  not 
one  of  your  moping  Christians,  to  go  mourning  all  the  day 
long  for  the  sins  and  follies  of  herself  or  others.  Her  faith 
was  too  strong  for  that.  Not  that  she  trusted  to  faith  with- 
out works,  but  that  she  always  used  the  two  together.  When 
anything  was  to  be  done  for  the  sake  of  benevolence  or  reli- 
gion, she  walked  heart  and  hand  into  the  work,  fully  believ- 
ing that  He  who  had  given  her  that  work  to  do,  would  crown 
her  efforts  with  success.  Such  is  the  labor,  blessed  of  God, 
that,  like  the  seed  sown  in  good  ground,  springeth  up  and 
beareth  fruit,  thirty,  sixty  and  an  hundred  fold. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  fair  to  night,  Mr.  Pufton  ?"  asked 
Alice ;  "  you  were  talking  about  it  yesterday." 


KATE    WESTON.  .  135 

The  gentleman  cast  an  anxious  glance  towards  Mrs.  Maylie, 
answering,  "  So  I  proposed,  my  dear,  so  I  proposed.  Your 
aunt  was  to  accompany  us,  I  think.  Shall  you  favor  us,  Mrs. 
Maylie  ?" 

He  leaned,  over,  looking  with  such  eager  interest  for  an 
answer,  that  Alice  improved  the  opportunity  afforded  her  of 
giving  a  very  serious  wink  sidewise  at  Kate,  and  exclaiming, 
"  Oh,  Aunt  Sophy  promised  me  a  week  ago  that  she  would  go 
•with  me  to  night.  Now  don't  take  any  praise  to  yourself, 
Mr.  Pufton,  you  see  it  was  all  decided  upon  long  before  yoi» 
knew  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  Come  Alice,"  interposed  her  father  in  an  under  tone. 

"  You  see,  Kate,  how  I  am  persecuted,"  said  she,  trying  to 
pout.  "  If  I  venture  to  open  my  lips,  Papa  says,  '  Come 
Alice,'  and  Mamma  looks  daggers  at  me.  When  I  am  such 
a  model  of  gravity,  too." 

Here  she  put  on  so  demure  an  air,  that  Kate  could  not  for 
the  life  of  her  help  laughing.  The  two  boys  giggled  to  each 
other,  little  Ellie's  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  mother  remarked, 
"  Alice,  we  know  so  well  that  some  mischief  is  brewing,  when- 
ever we  hear  you  speak ;  you  can't  wonder  at  it." 

"  Indeed !"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  "  Miss  Alice's  humor  is  the  life 
of  the  company.  Unless  it  happens  to  fall  upon  one's-self. 
I  suppose  I  must  take  a  pretty  good  share  of  it." 

"  That's  right,  you  dear  old  gentleman,"  cried  Alice,  "  stand 
my  friend,  you  do  not  know  how  many  times  I  have  stood 
yours.  I'm  a  powerful  ally  of  yours,  sir;  just  ask  Aunt 
Sophy." 

Mr.  Pufton  did  not  seem  at  all  disposed  to  follow  her 
direction,  for  he  was  suddenly  taken  with  a  violent .  fit  of 
hunger,  and  seemed  intent  upon  demolishing  the  contents 
of  his  plate  in  the  shortest  time  possible. 

"  Well  now,  Judge,"  said  he,  cocking  his  head  very  much 
on  one  side,  in  order  to  obtain  a  view  of  that  gentleman's  face, 
"what  are  you  going  to  do  with  Kate  here,  this  winter  ?'' 


136  KATE   WESTON. 

"Make  her  enjoy  herself  as  much  as  possible,  I  hope," 
answered  Judge  Ainslie. 

"A  matter  very  easy  of  accomplishment,  I  can  assure 
you,"  cried  Alice.  "  If  I  were  to  perch  her  in  the  middle  of 
my  toilet-stand  with  a  work-box  at  her  side,  or.  a  book,  or  a 
couple  of  knitting-needles  and  a  ball  of  yarn,  I  believe  she'd 
be  perfectly  happy  to  stay  there  the  whole  winter,  now  I 
really  do.  The  principal  trouble  will  be  to  get  her  anywhere 
without  an  amount  of  coaxing  and  persuading,  the  thoughts 
of  which  actually  make  me  feel  faint  with  fatigue." 

"Have  to  call  Mr.  Byng  to  your  assistance,  my  dear," 
remarked  Mr.  Pufton.  "  Capital  hand  at  an  argument,  Mr. 
Byng.  You  know  that,  my  dear.  Pretty  successful,  eh,  my 
dear?" 

It  was  now  Alice's  turn  to  blush,  and  be  very  much  occu- 
pied with  her  dinner,  and  as  she  neither  winked  at  Kate,  nor 
pinched  her,  nor  nipp^l  her  toes,  that  young  lady  had  a 
pretty  fair  inkling  of  the  disposition  of  affairs  in  that  quarter. 
She,  however,  like  a  prudent  girl,  resolved  to  take  no  notice 
of  the  conversation,  but  to  wait,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
gentleman  referred  to,  before  asking  any  questions. 

"  I  don't  know  why-y,"  drawled  Miss  Sophronia  Maylie, 
''but  re-al-ly,  Mr.  By-yng  reminds  me  of  the  elegant 
Lord  Bra-al-ley,  and  he  always  reminds  me  of  Hercules, 
don't  you  remember,  Mamma-a — so  comma-anding  and  lofty. 
He"  used  to  step  into  his  ca-rriage  with  the  a-air  of  a 
king." 

"There  now,"  cried  Alice,  suddenly  reviving  again,  "how 
very  ridiculous  it  was  in  you,  Sophronia,  to  cast  an  English 
nobleman  and  a  German  baron  from  your  feet,  not  to  speak 
of  the  cruelty  of  such  a  proceeding.  There  cannot  be  the 
slightest  doubt  that  both  those  gentlemen  have  either  com- 
mitted suicide,  or  returned  in  despair  to  their  respective  coun- 
tries, for  you  have  never  heard  of  them  since." 

"  I  ne-ever  told  you  anything  to  tha-at  effect,"  answered 


KATE    WESTON.  137 

Miss  Sophronia,  at  the  same  time  lifting  an  infinitesimally 
small  portion  of  meat  upon  her  fork. 

"But  you  see,  I  am  gifted  witk>  second  sight,  coz," 
answered  Alice.  "  So  there  was  no  need  to  tell  me." 

Miss  Sophronia  agitated  her  head-dress  a  little,  simpered  a 
little,  tried  to  blush,  and  seemed  altogether  overwhelmed  at 
thought  of  the  honors  heaped  upon  her. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  I  believe,"  said  the  Judge,  bowing 
to  Kate,  "I  have  a  little  business  with  Mr.  Pufton,  that 
takes  me  away  earlier  than  usual." 

. "  Don't  speak  of  it,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  "  private  business 
of  my  own,  my  dear,"  nodding  at  Kate  ;  "  enjoy  the  present 
company,  sir,"  bobbing  round  again  towards  the  Judge. 
"  This  evening  will  do  quite  as  well,  sir.  Don't  trouble 
yourself,  sir." 

"  You  forget  that  you  are  engaged  this  evening,"  remarked 
Alice,  with  a  roll  of  the  eyes  towards  Mrs.  Maylie.  "  We'll 
excuse  you  both,  perfectly  excusable,  gentlemen.  Indeed, 
I've  no  doubt  we'll  be  rather  glad  than  otherwise  at  your 
departure,  I'm  dying  to  have  a  good  chat  among  ourselves 
upon  matters  that  you  gentlemen  can  neither  tolerate  nor 
appreciate,  and  Kate,  I  am  convinced,  is  full  as  bad  as  I  am, 
only  she's  cunning  enough  to  conceal  it.  Good  bye,  gentlemen." 

Such  a  hint  was  not  to  be  neglected,  so  the  two  gentlemen 
left  the  table  without  further  ado.  As  they  were  drawing  on 
their  overcoats  in  the  entry,  Clarence  stole  after  them,  and 
looking  doubtfully  up  at  his  father,  asked  him  if  he  might 
not  go  to  the  fair. 

"  Nonsense,  child,"  said  his  father,  "  you  are  too  young  to 
be  out  nights." 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  see  Castle  Garden  lit  up  at  night, 
and  filled  with  all  those  pretty  things." 

Clarence  didn't  speak  as  another  boy  would  have  spoken. 
There  was  a  gentleness  in  his  manner  that  would  have 
accorded  better  with  the  temper  of  a  girl.  He  was  a  favo- 


138  KATE    WESTON. 

rite  with  his  father,  who  seldom  denied  hjm  anything. 
He  hesitated,  now,  however,  as  to  the  propriety  of  his 
request. 

Mr.  Pufton,  who  did  not  possess  the  old  bachelor  trait  of 
disliking  children,  but  on  the  contrary,  never  seemed  to  see 
enough  of  them,  put  in  his  plea.  x 

"  Let  us  have  Clary  along  by  all  means,  sir ;  some  fine 
specimens  of  the  arts  to  show  you,  my  boy.  Positively  you 
must,  sir.  I  shall  invite  him  myself;  poor  boy,  shut  up  in 
the  school  all  day,  not  the  best  teacher  in  the  world,  either." 

The  boy's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  It  was  only  that  morning 
his  teacher  had  called  him  an  obstinate  little  blockhead, 
because  he  had  refused  to  tell  of  a  boy  who,  out  of  pure  fun, 
had  pinned  up  a  paper  man  on  the  wall,  just  before  the 
school  opened.  He  thought  it  very  hard.  His  old  teacher 
never  called  him  such  names,  and  he  felt  very  sorry  that  he 
had  gone  away. 

His  father  didn't  see  the  tears,  but  he  told  him  to  be  ready 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  he  should  go  if  he  liked,  then  went  out 
at  the  hall-door,  followed  by  Mr.  Pufton,  who  turned  round 
several  times  to  bob  his  little  round  head,  and  blink  his  little 
round  eyes  at  Clarence,  pantomimes  expressive  of  his  unbounded 
sympathy  with  him,  in  the  peculiarly  afflicting  state  of  school 
affairs. 

Clarence  wiped  his  eyes  when  he  was  left  alone,  and  began 
caressing  his  beautiful  little  Newfoundland  dog,  who  sprang 
to  his  arms  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  delight. 

He  was  a  strange  boy.  That  is  strange  for  a  boy.  He 
seemed  to  possess  all  the  affection  and  gentleness  of  a  girl, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  firmness  and  energy  of  the  boy. 
Not  boisterous,  but  decided,  not  talented,  but  persevering,  he 
went  quietly  about  his  duties  and  his  pastimes,  while  his  par- 
ents never  felt  any  uneasiness  on  his  account. 

The  arrival  of  a  new  teacher  to  fill  the  place  of  one  who 
had  instructed  him  during  the  whole  term  of  his  school  life,  a 


KATE   WESTON.  139 

period  of  some  six  years,  caused  the  affectionate  little  fellow 
no  small  vexation  of  spirit.  The  sorrow  of  the  boy  was  very 
evident,  and  the  teacher,  a  self-willed,  passionate  man,  had 
already  contracted  a  prejudice  against  the  thoughtful  little 
fellow  who  seemed  to  mourn  so  silently  over  the  loss  of  a  kind 
and  efficient  instructor. 


140  KATE   WESTON. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JUDGE  AINSLIE  being  quite  primitive  in  his  habits,  the  dinner 
was  over  by  three  o'clock.  The  .boys  having  no  lessons  to 
recite  before  that  time,  were  allowed  to  remain,  entering  school 
again  at  the  afternoon  recess.  "  Good-bye  mother,"  said  Clar- 
ence, turning^,  back  as  he  reached  the  door,  with  a  wistful 
glance. 

"  Good-bye,  my  son." 

"  Please  mother,  won't  you  give  me  sixpence  to  buy  one  of 
those  handsome  new  balls.  I've  wanted  one  ever  so  long." 

"  Oh,  Clary,  you  better  run  along  to  school,  you  are  going 
to  the  fair  to-night,  you  know." 

"Poor  fellow,"  cried  Alice,  "he's  got  a  headache  to-day. 
Here's  a  sixpence  Clary ;  you  know  I  promised  you  one  for 
threading  my  needle  yesterday  when  I  was  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  Thank  you,  Alice,"  answered  the  boy,  smiling.  "I  thought 
you  were  only  joking." 

"  You  will  certainly  spoil  that  boy,  Alice,"  said  her  mother. 
"  Really,"  she  added,  turning  to  Kate,  "  she  never  refused  him 
anything.  I  believe  she  thinks  more  of  him  than  all  the  rest 
put  together.  And  they  are  not  a  bit  alike  either." 

"  That's  the  very  reason,"  laughed  Alice.  "  You  see,  Kate,  I 
being  a  girl,  should  have  been  the  Quaker  (no  offence,  I  hope), 
and  Clary,  being  the  boy,  should  have  been  the  romp.  Now 
a  great  mistake  must  have  been  made  somewhere,  inasmuch 
as  things  have  turned  out  vice-versa.  I'm  so  dreadfully  perse- 
cuted in  consequence,  that  I  pity  myself  most  heartily,  and 


KATE    WESTON.  141 

considering  Clary  as  badly  off  as'  myself,  try  to  alleviate  his 
condition  by  every  means  in  my  power." 

"  A  laudable  thoughtfulness  certainly,"  said  her  Aunt  Sophy, 
learting  her  elbow  on  the  table. 

"Miss  Weston,"  remarked  Sophronia,  with  a  would-be- 
graceful  droop  of  the  head,  "  Alice  is  such  a  hair-bra-ined 
crea-ture.  I'm  re-al-ly  afraid  she-'ll  drive  you  to  de-spair 
before  the  end  of  winter." 

"  I  hope  to  be  able  to  tame  her  down  a  little,"  answered 
Kate,  jesting ;  "  as  we  share  the  same  room  and  bed,  I  shall 
have  ample  opportunity  for  '  curtain-lectures '  whenever  she 
misbehaves,  so  I  give  her  fair  warning  to  carry  herself  straight." 

Alice  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  with  a  mute  glance  of 
despair,  so  earnest  that  everybody  except  Miss  Sophronia  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  even  she  allowed  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
to  relax  a  little. 

"  It's  no  use,"  cried  the  self-constituted  martyr,  "  I  shall  be 
dead  before  the  winter  is  out ;  upon  the  whole,  I  think  it 
advisable  to  commit  suicide  at  once,  and  avoid  the  torture  of 
dying  by  inches.  Every  one  in  the  house  a  spy  upon  my 
actions.  I  feel  like  a  stray  soldier  in  the  enemies'  camp.  Oh 
dear — oh  dear !" 

"  If  you  liye  through  it,"  remarked  Mrs.  Maylie  quietly, 
"  I've  no  doubt  you'll  avoid  such  another  season  by  taking 
flight  into  some  other  camp.  Affairs  seem  to  promise  that,  at 
present." 

"  Now  Aunty,  look  out,  or  I'll  tell  Mr.  Pufton  Avhat  you  said 
about  him  the  other  day.  I'd  just  as  lief  as  not,  if  I  hadn't 
a  vague  kind  of  fear  that  he'd  turn  into  a  balloon,  like  the 
little  fat  woman  at  the  Museum,  and  sail  away  through  the 
air  in  the  exuberance  of  his  delight." 

"  Alice  is  a  first-rate  fencer,  Mrs.  Maylie,"  said  Kate,  "  no 
fear  of  her  if  she  is  in  the  enemies'  camp.  She  can  take  good 
care  of  herself.  What's  the  matter,  Ellie  ?" 

The  little  girl  was  laughing  away  and  trying  to  hide  herself 


142  KATE    WESTON. 

from  view  behind  a  large  pitcher  that  stood  just  in  front  of  her 
plate. 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  she  said,  putting  her  finger  to  the 
corner  of  her  mouth,  "  how  funny  Mr.  Pufton  would  look 
turning  into  a  balloon." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  he  might  do  for  one  without  much 
altering,"  said  Alice.  "  I'm  sure  now,  if  he  were  just  puffed 
full  of  hydrogen,  he'd  be  equal  to  the  best  balloon  agoing." 

"  That'll  do  now,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  musn't  gel  per- 
sonal, my  dear." 

"  There,  Kate,  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?"  asked  the  lively  girl  in 
a  whining  tone.  "  Howsoever,"  she  added,  with  a  delighted 
little  laugh,  "  I  do  love  the  dear  old  gentleman ;  and  as  I 
have  no  doubt  he'll  sometime  be  a  member  of  our  family,  I 
suppose  it's  better  to  follow  mama's  advice." 

"Mo-ther,"  remarked  Sophronia  languishingly,  "I  would 
not  allow  such  dis-res-pectful  jesting." 

"  It  does  not  trouble  me^  answered  Mrs.  Maylie,  good- 
naturedly.  "  Indeed  I  am  so  accustomed  to  it,  that  it  comes 
quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  think  it  has  more  effect  upon 
Mr.  Pufton  than  myself." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  exclaimed  Alice,  as  the  two  boys 
appeared  in  the  passage-way,  capped  and  satcheled  for  school, 
"you  lazy  fellows,  not  off  yet.  Mr.  Kepples'll  give  it  to 
you." 

"  'Tisn't  half-past  three  yet,"  said  Carlisle,  putting  his  head 
in  at  the  door,  "  can't  I  have  a  sixpence  1" 

"  No,  Carlisle,  not  to-day,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  want  you 
to  run  to  school  now  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"  Clary  had  a  sixpence,"  said  he,  looking  a  little  cloudy. 

"  Well,  didn't  you  have  one  yesterday  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Ainslie. 

"  I  want  one  to-day,"  pouted  the  boy. 

"You  can't  have  one  to-day,  my  son,"  said  his  mother, 
"  you  must  remember  Clary  is  older  than  you,  a  good  many 
years ;  besides,  Alice  gave  him  the  sixpence." 


KATE   WESTON.  143 

"  Won't  you  give  me  one,  too,  Alice,"  said  the  little  boy, 
brightening  up  a  little. 

"  No,  Carley,  mother  says  you  can't  have  it,"  said  his  sister ; 
Clary's  going  to  buy  a  ball  with  his  money ;  and  perhaps,  if 
you  are  a  very  good  boy  all  day,  I'll  make  you  one.  There, 
run  along,  or  Mr.  Kepples  will  pull  your  ears  for  you." 

"  Oh,  we've  got  plenty  of  time  before  recess  is  over,  full 
ten  minutes,"  said  Clarence.  "  Good-by,  mother." 

The  younger  brother  dashed  away  down  the  front  steps 
without  ever  looking  behind  him.  Clarence  paused,  with 
his  hand  on  the  door  knob,  to  take  a  final  glimpse  of  his 
mother. 

"  Good-bye,  dear." 

He  passed  down  the  steps,  pausing  again  at  the  foot  to  call 
out,  "  Good-bye,  mother,"  a  process  generally  repeated  a  full 
half-dozen  times  at  least,  before  he  was  satisfied  to  pass  quietly 
away. 

"  Halloa,  Clarence !"  cried  one  of  his  schoolmates,  as  the 
two  boys  entered  the  yard,  "  Mr.  Kepples  is  going  to  fight  the 
Mexicans.  He's  concluded  teaching  doesn't  suit  him,  he  has. 
Father  Martin  is  talking  about  coming  back  again,  he's  so 
much  better  now." 

"  Hurrah,  boys !"  cried  the  usually  quiet  Clarence.  "  Three 
cheers  for  Father  Martin.  Hurrah !  hurrah !" 

Mr.  Kepples  was  no  favorite,  and  the  cheer  was  echoed  by 
a  dozen  voices,  to  the  no  small  contempt  of  that  gentle- 
man, who  had  seen  the  proceeding  from  a  small  uppper 
window. 

"  See  here,  Clarence,"  called  the  first  speaker,  beckoning 
him  to  a  corner  of  the  yard,  and  looking  very  confidential 
indeed,  "don't  you  think,  I  really  believe  Mr.  Kepples  has 
been  and  got  drunk.  Sh — don't  say  a  word.  His  face  is 
just  as  red  as  fire.  And  he  has  been  acting  so  funny.  Just 
a  little  drunk,  I  mean — enough  to  make  him  cross." 


144  KATE    WESTON. 

"  He's  always  cross,"  whispered  Clarence,  looking  medita- 
tively on  the  ground.  "  Just  to  think  of  it !" 

"  Charlie  Waters  asked  him  to  change  his  steel  pen,"  said 
his  companion,  "  and  he  tried  to  mend  it  with  his  penknife, 
just  as  he  would  a  quill  pen ;  and  when  we  were  reciting  geo- 
graphy, John  Cooper  said  that  London  was  the  capital  of 
Australia,  and  he  told  him  it  was  right." 

"  Does  he  act  cross  ?"  asked  Clarence — "  any  crosser  than 
usual,  I  mean." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  he  doesn't  say  much,  hut  he  looks 
ugly  in  his  eyes  somehow.  I'd  be  afraid  to  vex  him." 

"  Dear  me,  I'm  afraid  to  ask  him  what  I  was  going  to. 
I've  learned  all  my  lessons  perfect,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  him 
to  let  me  recite  a  little  earlier,  so  that  I  could  go  out  and  play 
a  while  with  my  new  ball  before  dark.  It  gets  dark  so  soon 
now." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  scratching  his  head  thought- 
fully, "he  gave  two  of  the  boys  a  beating  to-day.  I'd  be 
most  afraid." 

"  Shan't  you  be  glad  when  Father  Martin  gets  back  ?  I  can't 
bear  Mr.  Kepples.  I  don't  believe  there's  a  boy  in  the  school 
likes  him." 

"  No,  I  know  their  a'n't,"  said  the  other,  looking  cautiously 
around.  Wouldn't  I  like  to  see  him  flogged,  that's  all.  He 
flogs  the  boys  for  nothing  at  all.  I'd  play  him  some  trick 
if  I  dared,  but  he  is  so  ugly  that  I  am  really  afraid  of 
him?" 

"Oh!  you  mustn't  speak  so,  Henry.  My  mother  would 
say  that  was  very  wicked." 

"  Well,  isn't  he  wicked,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  He's  no  busi- 
ness to  act  so  ugly,  that's  all.  There's  the  bell ;  hurry  up, 
or  we'll  have  to  take  it." 

As  the  boy  had  said,  Mr.  Kepples  certainly  gave  pretty  good 
evidence  of  having  indulged  a  little  too  freely  in  wine.  Ho 


KATE    WESTON.  145 

was  accustomed  to  taking  a  couple  of  glasses  every  day  after 
dinner,  and  having  to-day  exceeded  his  quantum,  felt  more 
savage  than  usual.  The  "  cheers  "  he  had  overheard  from  the 
window  had  not  tended  to  sweeten  his  temper  either ;  although 
from  motives  of  prudence,  he  made  extra  exertions  to  appear 
calm  and  self-possessed. 

This  forced  composure  quite  deceived  Clarence,  so  that  he 
commenced  thinking  over  again  the  feasibility  of  request- 
ing to  recite  his  lesson  before  the  usual  hour.  "There's 
nobody  to  recite  that  but  me,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "I  don't  see 
what  difference  it  can  make."  He  thought  it  over  all  the 
afternoon,  but  when  five  o'clock  came  he  felt  his  courage  give 
way.  It  would  be  dark  in  half  an  hour.  If  he  could  recite 
that  little  lesson,  and  try  his  new  ball.  He  opened  his  desk, 
and  looked  at  it  again.  It  was  such  a  nice  ball.  How 
high  it  would  bound.  He  might  just  as  well  go  as  not.  He'd 
ask  Mr.  Kepples.  He  wouldn't  kill  him  for  it,  at  any  rate. 
He  rose  up  suddenly,  book  in  hand,  and  walked  along  by  all 
the  boys  till  he  came  to  the  teacher's  desk. 

"  Mr.  Kepples,"  he  said  timidly. 

«  Well !" 

The  tone  did  not  serve  to  reassure  him,  and  his  face  flushed 
as  he  answered,  "  Please  sir,  Avould  you  as  lief  hear  my  Latin 
now.  It  won't  take  you  five  minutes  ?" 

"What's  that  for?"  demanded  Kepples,  abruptly. 

"  Why  I  should  like  to  go  if  you  please  sir,  when  I  had 
recited  it.  Lbelieve  I  have  been  perfect  in  everything  to-day." 

The  teacher  looked  from  under  his  brows  at  the  boy,  think- 
ing of  the  "  three  cheers  for  Father  Martin,"  and  deigned  no 
answer  to  the  request. 

Clarence  waited  two  or  three  minutes,  and  ventured  to  lay 
his  book  on  Mr.  Kepples's  desk  by  way  of  a  reminder,  where- 
upon the  gentleman  whirled  suddenly  round,  leveled  a  blow 
at  Clarence's  head  that,  taking  him  so  entirely  off  his  guard, 
threw  him  at  full  length  upon  the  floor,  in  such  a  manner  that 

V 


146  KATE    WESTON. 

his  forehead  came  into  sudden  contact  with  the  corner  of  a 
wooden  bench. 

"  You  impudent  young  rascal,"  shouted  the  half  intoxicated 
teacher,  "  how  dare  you  practice  any  of  your  tricks  upon  me  ? 
Get  up,  and  go  to  your  seat." 

Clarence  obeyed,  looking  quite  pale,  and  scarcely  paying 
attention  to  what  was  said.  As  Kepples  moved  back  to  his 
desk,  a  good  many  flushed  boyish  faces  were  turned  angrily 
upon  him,  and  little  Carlisle  actually  shook  his  miniature  fist, 
resolving  inwardly  that  father  should  hear  of  that.  He 
wouldn't  have  his  brother  treated  so,  he  knew. 

"  Mother,  I  don't  think  I  can  go  to  the  fair  to-night,  my 
head  aches  so,"  said  Clarence,  as  the  two  boys  entered  her 
sitting-room.  "  I  do  wish  Mr.  Martin  would  come  back  again. 
Mr.  Kepples " — he  stopped,  burst  into  tears,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  mother's  bosom. 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  his  mother^ 
stroking  the  short,  bright  curls  back  from  his  face. 

"  Just  this  is  the  matter,"  cried  Carlisle,  stamping  his  foot 
impetuously  upon  the  floor,  "  that  Mr.  Kepples  ought  to  go  to 
State's  Prison  to-morrow,  and  I  told  him  so  after  school.  We 
were  coming  along  the  street  together,  a  whole  lot  of  us,  and 
I  called  out  to  him,  '  Mr.  Kepples,  my  father's  a  Judge,  and 
he'll  sentence  you  to  State's  Prison  to-morrow,  you  see  if  he 
don't.'  Don't  you  believe  he  will  mother  ?" 

Mrs.  Ainslie  could  not  help  smiling.  "  Why  dear,  I  don't 
know  what  the  trouble  is  yet.  What  has  Mr.  Kepples  been 
doing  2" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  forgot.  He  just  knocked  Clary  right  down  onto 
the  floor  because  he  asked  to  recite  his  lesson,  and  every  one 
of  the  boys  said  it  was  real  mean  and  hateful  of  him,  and  I 
just  wish  he'd  tumble  down  and  break  his  neck,  /  do.  He 
never  " — 

"  Hush,  Carley,  hush,  you  mustn't  speak  so,"  said  his  mother 
gently.  "  That  is  wrong,  you  know  Clary  wouldn't." 


KATE    WESTON.  147 

"  That's  just  it.  The  boys  all  said  so.  Clary  is  always  so 
patient,  and  he  hates  Clary  because  he  was  Father  Martin's 
favorite.  Henry  Wood  told  me  so  to-night." 

"  How  was  it,  Clary  ?"  said  his  mother  to  Clarence,  who 
was  becoming  a  little  more  quiet  under  the  soothing  influence 
of  those  gentle  fingers.  "Tell  me  all  about  it  your- 
self." 

The  boy  wiped  his  eyes,  and  related  as  clearly  as  he  could, 
.  the  history  of  the  whole  affair.  His  mother  was  too  judicious 
a  woman  to  pay  attention  to  every  trivial  complaint  that  chil- 
dren make  of  their  teachers,  but  she  had  seen  Mr.  Kepples, 
and  formed  a  very  unfavorable  opinion  of  his  character. 
This,  joined  with  the  burning  heat  of  Clarence's  head,  led  her 
to  feel  considerable  anxiety  on  his  account. 

"  Where  did  you  hit  your  head,  Clary  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Here  mother,  just  over  my  eye." 

"  I  don't,  see  any  swelling.  Carlisle,  hand  me  the  camphor- 
bottle  out  of  my  cupboard  there.  We'll  see  if  bathing  won't 
relieve  the  pain." 

The  boy  seated  himself  upon  the  floor  before  her,  while  she 
bathed  his  forehead,  speaking  so  softly,  and  touching  so  gently. 
He  wondered  if  any  other  mother  was  like  her.  He  didn't 
think  so. 

"  Rover,  Rover,"  he  cried,  as  the  dog  bounded  into  the 
room. 

Rover's  shiny  black  face  and  wagging  tail  as  he  stood 
before  his  young  master  said  as  plainly  as  face  and  tail  could 
say,  "  What  do  you  want  of  me  Clarence  1  I'll  do  anything 
you  say." 

"  Rover,"  he  said,  taking  hold  of  the  dog's  paw,  "  go  down 
and  get  my  cap,  and  be  careful — careful  now,  you  don't  drop 
anything  out  of  it.  Down  in  the  hall." 

The  dog  trotted  proudly  away,  returning  in  one  minute 
with  the  cap,  and  laying  it  on  his  master's  lap. 

"Good  boy,  Rover,"  said  Clarence,  as  he  always  desig- 


148  KATE   WESTON. 

nated  the  favorite,  when  pleased  with  his  conduct,  "  Kiss  me 
Rover." 

The  black  eyes  sparkled  like  a  human  being's  as  he  licked 
the  boy's  forehead,  rubbed  his  nose  against  his  cheek,  and 
made  various  other  demonstrations  of  his  delighted  affection. 

"  See  mother,  here  is  my  ball.  Isn't  it  a  nice  one  ?  and  so 
cheap  too.  Henry  Wood's  isn't  a  bit  better,  and  he  paid  a 
shilling  for  it.  I  couldn't  try  it  though  to-day." 

"  That's  the  ball,  is  it  ?"  cried  Alice,  skipping  into  the  room, 
and  letting  herself  down  on  the  floor  by  her  brother. 

"  Camphor — eh — why,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

The  story  had  to  be  told  all  over  again,  aided  by  a  few 
spirited  touches  from  Carlisle,  who  had  left  the  room,  at  his 
mother's  instigation,  to  have  his  hands  washed. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  stories  I  ever  heard !"  cried  Alice,  when  it 
was  done,  "  I'd  like  to  see  something  done  to  that  man  that 
he'd  remember." 

"  Father's  going  to  sentence  him  to  State's  Prison  to-mor- 
row," cried  Carlisle  triumphantly,  "  mother  said  so !" 

"  Oh  Carley,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  didn't 
say  so.  You  asked  me  if  he  wouldn't,  but  I  didn't  say  yes." 

"  Well,  you  didn't  say  no,  mother,"  answered  the  child, 
"  and  I  thought  you  meant  yes.  He  will,  won't  he  ?" 

"  You  don't  understand,  my  son,"  she  answered.  "  Father 
can't  do  things  in  that  way.  How  are  you  now,  Clarence  ?" 

"  My  head  feels  better,  but  somehow  I'm  so  dizzy.  I  can't 
see  plain,  something  comes  before  my  eyes  like  flashes. 
Where  is  Alice  gone  ?" 

His  sister  sat  directly  before  him,  and  his  bright  eyes  were 
gazing  full  into  her  face.  She  started  up  in  alarm.  A  quick 
imperative  gesture  from  her  mother  stopped  the  exclamation 
that  quivered  on  her  lips. 

"  Alice  is  here,  Clarence,"  she  said  quietly,  while  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth  twitched  with  emotion.  "You  have  a 
severe  head-ache,  my  son,  and  must  keep  quiet,  Alice,  dear, 


KATE    TVESTON.  149 

take  Carlisle  away,  and  call  your  father  up.  I  think  I  heard 
him  come  in  down  stairs." 

When  her  husband  entered  the  room,  Clarence  was  looking 
very  pale,  so  pale  that  his  father  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
alarm.  "  Are  you  faint,  Clarence  ?"  cried  he,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.< 

The  boy  did  not  answer,  but  turned  paler  and  sank  back 
upon  the  floor.  Judge  Ainslie  caught  him  up,  crying  in  an 
agitated  voice, "  Some  water,  Helen,  for  heaven's  sake,  water." 

The  mother  flew  to  the  dresser,  and  held  a  glass  of  water 
to  his  lips.  He  paid  no  attention  to  her,  but  rolled  his  eyes 
as  though  in  agony. 

"  He  is  in  convulsions,"  sobbed  his  mother,  rushing  to  the 
hall  to  summon  assistance.  He  clenched  his  hands,  and 
moaned,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  and  fixing  his  eyes  in  the 
agonized  stare  that  accompanies  attacks  of  that  nature. 

It  was  not,  however,  very  severe  or  of  long  continuance. 
Before  the  physician  had  arrived,  he  was  entirely  over  the 
violence  of  the  attack,  although  still  regardless  of  what  was 
passing  around  him.  Dr.  Currer  being  the  family  physician, 
and  a  man  of  warm  feelings,  felt  much  interest  in  his  patient. 
" Clarence,"  he  said,  stooping  over  the  pillow.  "How  are  you  ?" 

There  was  no  answer,  only  a  deep  sigh.  Ammonia  was 
applied  to  his  nose  and  mouth.  He  stirred.  "  Clarence,"  said 
his  mother,  bending  over  him.  He  half-opened,  his  eyes ;  she 
rubbed  his  hands,  watching  eagerly  for  the  first  sign  of  con- 
sciousness. At  last  he  whispered,  "Mother." — She  spoke  to  him, 
"  What  is  it,  darling  ?  do  you  feel  better  2  Look  at  me.  He 
turned  his  face  towards  her,  and  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  She 
shuddered;  there  was  a  look  in  them  she  had  never  seen  before. 
"  Where  are  you,  mother  ?  I  don't  see  you,"  he  murmured. 

She  sank  into  a  chair.  "  Oh — my  child !"  then  suddenly 
rallying  with  a  strong  effort,  she  motioned  the  doctor  to  his 
side.  He  took  his  hand,  saying,  "  Clarence,  look  at  me,  my 
boy."  Again  those  large  dark  orbs  were  uplifted,  and  an 


150  KATE    WE8TON. 

involuntary  start  on  the  part  of  the  physician  spoke  a  world 
of  meaning  to  the  anxious  mother.  It  was  over  directly,  and 
Dr.  Currer,  with  true  professional  nonchalance,  gave  quiet 
directions  for  his  treatment,  and  took  his  departure,  asserting 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  any  sudden  relapse. 

He  spoke  encouragingly,  but  that  quiver  of  agitation,  and 
a  studious  avoidance  of  meeting  her  glance,'  sent  an  indefin- 
able thrill  of  apprehension  through  the  heart  of  the  watchful 
mother. 

There  was  no  visiting  the  fair  that  night.  Mr.  Pufton  came 
and  stayed  the  whole  evening,  dividing  himself  judiciously 
between  playing  the  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Maylie,  and  nursing 
poor  Clarence,  who  had  been^a  long  time  his  especial  favorite. 
The  attractions,  indeed,  proved  so  powerful  both  ways,  that 
the  poor  little  dumpling  gentleman  was  thumping  continually 
up  and  down  stairs  for  a  full  hour  after  his  arrival,  until 
Aunt  Sophy,  taking  pity  on  his  little  trotters,  came  up  stairs 
and  seated  herself  at  her  nephew's  bedside. 

"  Poor  little  chap  !"  he  cried,  hastily  mopping  up  his  eyes. 
"  Had  a  headache  this  morning.  Villainous  rascal,  ma'am. 
Murderous  wretch.  Regular  scape-gallows,  ma'am." 

Whether  those  complimentary  epithets  were  applied  to 
the  lady  he  was  addressing,  the  boy  upon  the  bed,  or  some 
person  unknown,  it  would  have  been  quite  difficult  to  deter- 
mine, inasmuch  as  he  frowned  violently  at  the  lady,  shook  his 
head  furiously  'at  the  boy,  and  looked  in  all  conceivable 
directions,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  meditating  a  pre- 
cipitous descent  upon  some  imaginary  offender. 

"  See  here,  Clarence,"  he  said,  bobbing  over  him,  "  soon  as 
you're  well,  I'll  get  father  to  let  you  spend  the  whole  day 
with  me  in  the  fair.  Lots  of  glorious  things  there.  Little 
ships,  and  all  sorts  of  everything.  I'll  buy  you  a  new  bat 
and  ball,  I  will.  You  shall  play  with  it  all  day,  soon  as  you 
get  well,  mind." 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  well  to-morrow,"  said  Clarence,  bright- 


KATE    WESTON.  151 

ening.  "  If  I  could  only  see  you  now.  I  guess  its  one  of 
those  blind-head-aches  Aunty  has  sometimes.  Don't  you 
think  so,  mother  ?" 

Mrs.  Ainslie  did  not  think  so.  The  symptoms  were  too 
violent.  There  was  a  terrible  dread  tugging  at  her  heart,  but 
she  felt  the  importance  of  calmness,  and  answered  with  a 
stifled  sigh,  "  I  don't  know,  dear.  The  doctor  said  you  would 
be  better  to  morrow." 

u  Suppose  I  should  get  blind,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  It's 
so  strange ;  I've  got  such  a  queer  feeling  about  my  eyes." 

Mr.  Pufton  whisked  about  in  a  state  of  tremendous  excite- 
ment at  the  bare  supposition  of  such  a  thing,  whipping  his 
pocket-handkerchief  across  his  eyes  in  a  very  suspicious  man- 
ner, and  taking  a  few  hasty  turns  up  and  down  the  room. 

Mrs.  Bailey  thought  to  herself,  "  What  a  pity  that  man  was 
a  rumseller.  No  one  would  ever  think  so,  she  was  sure." 

Mr.  Pufton  flew  about  a  deal  faster,  and  rubbed  his  eyes  a 
deal  harder,  when  Dr.  Currer  informed  him  in  confidence 
that  there  was  very  little  prospect  that  poor  Clarence  would 
ever  see  again.  The  injury  he  had  sustained  was  of  so  serious 
a  nature  as  to  preclude  the  probability  of  his  ever  being  free 
from  a  liability  to  being  attacked  at  any  hour  with  the  epilep- 
tic convulsion  of  the  previous  evening.  Some  affection  of 
the  eye  consequent  upon  his  disease  must  probably -destroy 
his  sight. 

It  was  many  weeks  before  this  was  communicated  to  the 
unhappy  parents.  A  sadness  brooded  over  the  house,  such  as 
an  affliction  of  that  nature  alone  could  bring.  Death  steals 
our  darlings  away,  and  time  ripples  quietly  over  the  wreck  of 
our  shattered  love,  until  we  forget  that  it  is  there.  But  when 
the  sun  of  light  goes  down  upon  a  loving  son,  or  brother,  or 
friend,  leaving  them  to  a  life-long  night,  our  own  hearts 
travel  with  them  into  the  shadow.  As  the  hope  of  restora- 
tion grows  fainter,  our  sympathies  twine  closer  around  the 
sufferer. 


152  ,     KATE    WESTON. 

The  whole  family  went  softly  about  for  a  long  time  after 
the  first  attack  of  Clarence.  As  the  gentle,  amiable  boy 
groped  his  way  from  room  to  room,  never  complaining, 
always  patient,  and  loving  as  ever,  every  hand  was  ready  to 
assist.  His  mother  would  sit  for  hours  with  his  head  upon 
her  lap,  reading  or  relating  some  history  that  could  divert  his 
attention.  Kate  and  Alice  taught  him  to  knit,  and  braid 
little  baskets  of  wire  for  their  toilet-stand ;  his  father  took  him 
out  with  him  to  his  office ;  even  little  Ellie  and  Carlisle  tried  a 
great  many  ways  of  their  own  to  amuse  their  blind  brother. 
As  for  poor  Rover,  he  actually  seemed  to  understand  perfectly 
the  whole  affair.  He  would  sit  by  the  hour  together  at  his 
young  master's  feet,  every  now  and  then  looting  with  such 
an  earnest,  wistful  glance  into  his  face,  and  rubbing  his  head 
against  his  knee,  so  lovingly  that  Clarence  could  hardly  be  a 
minute  without  him. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  first  convulsion,  he  was  seized 
with  another,  more  violent  and  painful.  Then  they  became 
more  frequent,  so  that  before  the  winter  was  half  out, 
scarcely  a  week  elapsed  without  their  recurrence. 

Clarence  was  sitting  one  day  alone  with  his  mother.  The 
fire  burned  brightly  in  the  grate.  He  sat  in  his  low  chair  at 
one  side,  and  she  was  sewing  opposite  him,  while  Rover  lay 
stretched  upon  the  rug  before  the  fire.  He  had  been  musing 
for  a  long  time,  without  speaking  a  word.  His  mother 
glanced  occasionally  across  to  see  that  he  was  comfortable, 
now  and  then  stirring  up  the  fire,  or  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"Mother,"  he  cried  suddenly,  with  a  joyful  start,  "I  can 
see !  I  see  Rover  and  you  as  plain !  Oh !  dear  mother,  I  can 
see." 

She  let  her  work  drop,  and  rushed  towards  him.  He  put 
both  arms  about  her,  and  looked  into  her  face. 

"  Oh !  yes,  you  look  just  the  same  as  ever,  and  Rover,  too. 
Rover !" 


KATE    WESTON.  153 

The  dog  sprang  up  towards  him,  Clarence  patted  him,  and 
laughed  and  cried  alternately. 

"Where's  Alice  and  father?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can  see 
them  now  just  as  well  as  you  can.  Do  call  them  quick.  Oh ! 
dear — oh !" 

He  put  his  hand  quickly  to  his  forehead,  uttering  a  low 
cry  of  pain,  then,  as  though  relieved,  looked  up  into  his 
mother's  face. 

"  There,  it's  all  dark  again,  mother.  Oh !  dear,  how  dark. 
Darker  than  it  was  before." 

He  sat  down  again  in  his  little  chair.  His  lips  quivered. 
He  burst  into  tears.  The  great  drops  rolled  down  over  his 
face  and  he  swayed  backwards  and  forwards  convulsively. 

"  I  shall  never  see  again,"  he  sobbed.  "How  dark  it  is  ?  I 
can't  even  see  the  fire.  Oh !  if  I  could  only  see  father  and 
all,  once — just  once.  And  I  thought  I  was  going  " 

He  laid  his  head  down  upon  his  knees,  and  cried  aloud. 
His  mother  knelt  down  and  took  his  head  to  her  bosom,  with- 
out saying  a  word,  and  her  own  tears  streamed  down  over  the 
clustering  curls.  They  sat  so  for  some  minutes.  At  length 
she  found  breath  to  say,  "  It  is  the  Lord's  will,  let  Him  do 
as  seemeth  good  in  His  sight.  My  dear — dear  boy !" 

It  was  too  hard  a  lesson  for  the  child.  He  only  sobbed 
the  more,  and  clung  closer  to  that  yearning  heart,  while  she, 
the  tender,  weeping  mother  sent  up  such  prayers  to  heaven 
from  her  inner  soul,  as  our  Heavenly  Father  treasures  till  he 
shall  answer  in  his  own  good  time.  And  yet  the  burden  of 
her  prayer  was  not  that  he  might  see  again.  The  Lord  had 
sent  the  trial,  and  she  was  praying  for  His  aid  to  bear  it. 
Praying  that  when  those  sightless  eyes  should  close  for  ever 
in  this  world,  they  might  open  to  the  glories  of  the  celestial 
city.  That  Jesus  would  take  the  stricken  lamb  to  His  bosom, 
and  carry  him  through  the  green  pastures,  and  beside  the  still 
waters. 

Well  for  thee,  mother,  that  the  blackness  of  coming  years 
7* 


154  KATE   WESTON. 

fell  not  then  upon  thy  spirit.  "  Mercy  held  the  vail  over  thy 
future,"  or  a  fiercer  curse  than  the  life-shade  falling  on  thy 
boy,  would  have  loomed  up  frightfully  before  thy  vision. 
Hope — and  pray — and  trust.  Thou  wilt  have  strong  need, 
mother — gentle,  yearning  mother. 
Clarence  never  saw  again. 


KATE    WESTON.  155 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LITTLE  MAGGIE  had  washed  up  the  dishes,  and  swept  the 
room,  and  "  cleared  up  "  with  a  nicety  that  would  have  satis- 
fied any  Yankee  housewife.  Mrs.  Terry  had  just  coaxed  the 
baby  to  sleep — a  circumstance  very  satisfactory  to  all  baby- 
tending  mammas,  and  Mr.  Terry  was  about  starting  down 
towards  the  village. 

"  I  think,  Jennie,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  want  Maggie  along  to 
come  home  with  the  meat,  or  you  will  not  have  it  in  time  for 
dinner.  I  shall  be  detained  some  time  at  Mr.  Meadows'  ." 

"  Very  well,  I  can  spare  her  now  as  well  as  not,"  answered 
his  wife ;  "  Maggie,  Maggie  !" 

The  little  girl  came  running  in  answer  to  the  call. 

"  You  may  get  your  little  basket,  and  put  on  your  hat  and 
shawl,"  said  her  mistress.  "  Mr.  Terry  wants  you  to  go  down 
to  the  village  with  him  to  bring  home  the  dinner." 

The  little  pale  face  brightened,  and  the  girl  bounded  away 
to  do  her  bidding. 

"  There  is  something  uncommon  about  that  child,"  remarked 
Mr.  Terry,  following  her  with  his  eyes  as  she  left  the  room ; 
"I  can't  feel  at  all  towards  her  as  I  would  towards  a  ser- 
vant." , 
"  "  ISTor  I,"  answered  his  young  wife,  re-arranging  the  cradle- 
quilt  over  the  sleeping  baby."  "  She  has  won  her  way  into 
my  heart  entirely.  Indeed  she  is  so  gentle  and  affectionate, 
it  would  be  hard  to  repulse  her." 

"  Her  manner  shows  that  she  has  never  learned  what 
belongs  to  the  station  she  occupies,"  answered  her  husband. 


156       .  KATE    WESTON. 

"  It's  your  business  to  teach  her  that,  Jennie.  There  is  too 
much  familiarity  in  the  way  in  which  she  conducts  towards 
you.  It's  for  her  own  good  to  know  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  either,  Charles.  I  thought  so  at  first, 
but  really  I  don't  think  she  means  any  harm  at  all  by  it.  I 
would  hardly  alter  it,  if  I  could  without  wounding  her  feel- 
ings, which  I  cannot  do ;  so  I  think  best  to  take  her  just  as 
she  is," 

"  It  was  rather  an  odd  proceeding,  though,"  answered  her 
husband,  "  for  her  to  dance  up  behind  you  at  the  table  this 
morning,  and  Mss  you  while  you  were  eating  your  breakfast. 
Can't  you  let  her  know  it  isn't  agreeable  to  you  to  be  treated 
in  that  manner  ?" 

"I'm  not  quite  so  certain  it  isn't  agreeable  to  me,"  she 
answered,  smiling.  "  I  am  sure  it  comes  right  from  the 
heart,  prompted  by  genuine  affection,  and  commodities  of  that 
sort  are  too  valuable  to  be  thrown  away  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  false  etiquette.  Yesterday  she  put  both  arms  around 
my  neck,  and  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  please  to  love  her,  she 
loved  me  so  much  ?  Well  now,  what  could  I  do  ?  You 
wouldn't  have  had  me  thrust  her  away  from  me,  and  so  break 
her  spirits  entirely." 

"  No,  not  exactly  that,  Jennie,  but  I'm  afraid  Catharine  is 
beginning  to  put  on  airs  on  the  strength  of  the  indulgence 
shown  to  Maggie,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so  pleasant  in  her, 
you  know." 

"  Charles,  suppose  we  send  Maggie  to  school,  and  prepare 
her  to  teach.  She's  quite  a  good  scholar  now,  for  one  of  her 
age,  and  I  think  she  has  considerable  talent." 

"  My  dear  wife,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  How  could  you 
get  along  without  her?  She's  sifch  an  excellent  little  nurse, 
too." 

"  I  could  manage  very  well  now,  Charles,  if  you'll  let  me 
try ;  the  baby  has  begun  to  creep,  and  she  amuses  herself  a 
great  deal.  I  think  it  would  be  an  excellent  plan.  .Then, 


KATE    WESTON.  15*? 

you  see,  Catharine  would  have  no  excuse  for  putting  on  airs 
Come,  now,  this  is  quite  a  pet  plan  of  mine.  I've  been  a 
whole  week  thinking  it  over." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  her  husband  doubtfully,  "  you  may  have 
your  own  way,  only  on  trial,  mind,  though  I  really  think  it  s 
strange  notion,  and  I'm  afraid  you'll  tire  yourself  out  with 
that  baby,  and  everything  else  you  have  to  do." 

There  was  quite  a  commotion  in  the  neighborhood  when 
Maggie  made  known  the  fact  that  she  was  to  be  sent  to 
school.  Catharine  turned  up  her  nose  very  contemptuously, 
and  declared  that  she  "  couldn't  see  why  some  folks  was 
always  sot  above  other  folks,  when  there  wasn't  no  sort  o' 
difference  between  'em."  Rosy  and  Joe  thought  Maggie 
deserved  it — every  bit  of  it.  "  She  was  a  most  uncommon 
cretur !  they  nebber  seed  nuffin  like  her."  Mrs.  Jones,  who 
lived  just  below,  grumbled  that  "  some  was  always  in  luck  ; 
no  luck  ever  came  to  her.  If  they'd  only  took  her  Beccy 
now,  'twould  ha'  been  worth  while ;  nobody  couldn't  make 
nothin'  out  of  her  to  hum.  But  then  she  couldn't  expect  to 
be  nothin'  more  nor  the  most  wretchedest  mortal  on  airth. 
She  never  was,  and  she  didn't  s'pose  she  could  be." 

On  that  same  morning,  Edward  Clarence  had  stepped  over 
to  Mr.  Gamp's  sanctum  with  papers  of  some  importance, 
having  reference  to  the  sale  of  the  land  spoken  of  by  that 
gentleman  to  Dr.  Higgins.  He  was  to  meet  him  there  in  an 
hour,  to  witness  the  signatures,  and  Gamp  was  to  settle  mat- 
ters with  the  young  gentleman  previous  to  his  arrival.  When 
young  Clarence  entered  the  room,  no  one  was  there  but 
Billy,  who  was  moving  about  pale  and  spiritless  as  ever,  with 
that  same  shadow  always  lingering  over  his  face. 

"Where's  Mr.  Gamp,  Billy  ?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  the  boy. 

"  Gone  out,  sir.  He's  been  gone  ten  minutes.  He'll  be 
back  in  ten.  You  was  to  please  to  wait." 

"  If  your  ten  minutes  is  half  an  hour,  I  believe  I'll  take  a 
run  across  the  road.  I  might  as  well.  Think  so,  eh  ?" 


158  KATE   WESTON. 

"  Ten  minutes — half  an  hour  " —  murmured  the  boy,  look- 
ing up  in  blank  astonishment, 

"  He  didn't  say  half  an  hour." 

Edward  laughed  outright.  "  I  didn't  say  so,  did  I  ?"  he 
asked.  "  Some  people  say  ten  minutes,  and  mean  half  an 
hour — understand  2" 

"  He  don't,"  said  the  boy  abruptly ;  "  he'll  do  everything 
he  says.  If  he  said  he  was  going  to  kill  you  in  ten  minutes, 
he'd  do  it."  Having  gone  so  far,  he  started  and  fell  back,  evi- 
dently frightened  at  his  boldness. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  me,"  said  Edward,  pityingly. 
"  Poor  fellow.  I  see  you  don't  like  your  master."  • 

Billy  looked  round  to  the  door,  as  though  it  might  open 
by  some  invisible  power,  then  putting  his  face  down  to  Ed- 
ward's, whispered, 

"  You'U  tell  him." 

"  Nonsense,  boy.     I'll  cut  my  own  head  off  first." 

"  Well,  then,"  he  answered,  in  an  excited  tone,  and  glanc- 
ing again  fearfully  at  the  door,  "  I  hate  him.  He  knows  it, 
too,  and  he  says  I  shall  smart  for  it  yet.  Oh,  dear.  I  do 
smart  for  it  every  day." 

"  Why  don't  you  leave  him,  then  ?"  asked  Edward. 

"  I  can't,"  answered  the  boy,  "  he  won't  let  me." 

"  Pshaw,  Billy,  what  are  you  made  of?  Take  my  advice, 
have  a  regular  blow  up,  and  clear  out.  I  wouldn't  stay 
in  such  a  place  as  this,  at  any  rate.  Come  now,  tell  him 
so." 

The  poor  fellow  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  terror  at  the 
bare  idea. 

"  He'd  kill  me,  I  know,"  he  muttered  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
"  he'd  kill  me  if  he  knew  I  talked  so  to  you." 

"  Why,  what  right  has  he  to  keep  you  ?  You're  not  his 
child.  Haven't  you  any  father  and  mother  ?" 

"  No,  he  says  he's  my  uncle,  and  my  father  told  him  to  take 
care  of  me  when  he  died.  But  I  don't  believe  him.  He  hates 


KATE    WESTOH.  159 

me.    Just  see  here."    He  drew  up  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket, 
exhibiting  a  large  blue  spot  upon  his  arm. 

"  He  did  it ;  he  does  so  every  day,  and  beats  me  too  some- 
times." 

"And  what  do  you  do  to  make  him  beat  you?"  asked 
Edward. 

"  Nothing  at  all.     I'm  so  afraid  of  him  I  daren't  do  a  thing." 

"  This  is  a  very  bad  place  for  you,"  said  Edward.  "  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done  to  get  you  away.  Just  have  a  little  patience, 
and"— 

"  Oh  no !"  interrupted  the  boy  hastily ;  "  don't !  he  won't  let 
me  go ;  he'll  only  hate  me  worse  than  ever.  It's  a  bad  place, 
I  know  that  better  than  you.  It's  a  horrid  place.  It  was  a 
horrid  place  in  New  York.  They  used  to  drink  and  fight, 
and  gamble.  I've  seen  them  play  till  they  looked  mad  enough 
to  kill  one  another,  and  one  night  a  young  man  jumped  up 
from  the  table  and  screamed  out,  '  There's  the  last  cent,'  and 
just  held  a  pistol  to  his  mouth,  and  fired.  I've  seen  women 
and  children  come  there,  and  go  down  on  their  knees  to  him, 
and  beg  him  to  let  their  husbands  and  fathers  alone,  and  not 
*  be  holding  out  traps  for  them  to  drink  and  play,  and,  he'd 
laugh  at  them,  and  maybe  that  very  night  he'd  get  the  men 
drunk,  and  kick  them  out  into  the  gutter.  Ugh,  it  was  awful. 
It'll  Mil  me  yet." 

The  boy  had  gone  further  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 
So  far  that  he  was  alarmed,  and  trembled  violently.  "  He'll 
be  here  now  in  three  minutes.  Oh,  if  he  found  out  what  I'd 
been  saying." 

*  At  this  instant  the  door  opened,  and  the  worthy  gentleman 
made  his  appearance. 

The  pitying  look  on  Edward's  countenance,  and  the  boy's 
glance  of  terror  were  not  lost  upon  him.  He  merely  remarked, 
however,  "  Fine  day,  Mr.  Clarence.  Billy,  be  off  to  your  busi- 
ness. You've  idled  away  the  whole  morning.  You're  the 
worst  boy  to  manage  I  ever  knew.  Go  along,  sir.  Here,  take 


160  KATE    WESTON. 

this  demijohn  over  to  Mr.  Crane's.  Don't  be  loitering  along 
the  road  now.  It  won't  take  you  over  two  hours.  Take  the 
road  up  by  the  creek." 

The  boy  shouldered  his  demijohn  and  departed,  leaving  the 
young  doctor  to  transact  his  business  with  the  rumseller. 

"Somewhat  colder  to-day,"  he  remarked,  throwing  on 
another  stick  of  wood.  "  Winter  has  set  in,  in  earnest.  Well, 
it's  high  time.  New  Year's  is  almost  here.  Is  it  light  enough 
1  for  you,  sir  ?  There's  nothing  doing  here  in  the  day-time,  so 
I  don't  open  that  side  window.  Well,  we  might  as  well  pro- 
ceed to  business." 

"  Certainly  sir,"  said  Edward,  "  here  are  my  papers." 

"  It's  so  cold  this  morning,"  said  Gamp,  "  we  may  as  well 
have  something  to  warm  us  up  a  bit." 

He  stepped  across  to  the  shelves,  took  down  a  decanter, 
and  brought  it  to  the  table.  "  Take  a  glass,  sir,  it'll  do  you 
good  after  your  cold  walk,"  he  said,  at  the  same  time  pouring 
out  two  glasses  of  wine.  The  glasses  were  drained  three 
times  before  business  was  commenced.  There  was  some 
entanglement  in  relation  to  a  former  title  that  needed  clearing 
away,  and  Edward,  not  feeling  well,  was  considerably  per- 
plexed in  explaining  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  purchaser. 
Gamp  insisted  at  every  fresh  difficulty  that  he  would  feel 
much  refreshed  by  renewing  his  libation,  and  pressed  him  so 
politely  to  join  him,  that  the  young  physician  could  not  refuse 
without,  as  he  thought,  being  positively  impolite. 

Before  the  hour  was  over,  Edward  had  become  considerably 
excited,  while  Gamp,  who  had  taken  the  same  quantity, 
remained  cool  and  collected  as  ever.  The  young  man  had 
gone  frequently  as  far  as  this,  on  similar  previous  occasions, 
and  had  already  contracted  a  taste  for  the  stimulating  bever- 
age. As  those  indulgences,  however,  were  generally  followed 
by  slight  headaches,  he  had  resolved  at  every  repetition 
of  them  to  indulge  no  more.  But  these  resolutions,  like 
the  figures  a  child  draws  upon  the  sand  below  high-water- 


KATE    WESTON.  161 

mark,  were  washed  away  by  the  first  wave  of  impulse  or 
desire. 

"  Good  morning,  Higgins,"  said  Gamp,  as  that  worthy 
^talked  into  the  room. 

"  How's  the  shakes  now  ?     Gone  for  good  ?" 

Dr.  Higgins's  expression  was  certainly  suggestive  of  a  dying 
calf  as  he  sank  into  his  chair.  "  Bad  enough,"  said  he,  "  have 
a  wretched  time  of  it.  But  I  tread  the  mill  steadily,  that's 
my  motto,  that's  the  motto  for  every  physician,  sir,  for  every 
man.  What's  brought  you  to  comparative  competence,  sir  ?" 
He  did  not  pause  for  an  answer  to  this  question,  but  a  queer 
smile  on  Gamp's  face  answered  it  notwithstanding.  "You 
have  been  always  on  the  spot,  sir,"  continued  he,  "  and  the  day 
will  come  when  I  too  must  have  my  reward,  although  past 
years  have  done  little  for  me,  very  little."  • 

"Pho  Higgins,"  cried  his  friend,  "don't  be  nonsensical. 
Have  something  to  cheer  you  up.  Here's  some  Champagne. 
Help  yourself." 

The  long-faced  doctor  helped  himself  quite  freely. 

"  You're  not  going  to  be  so '  uncivil  as  to  let  Dr.  Higgins 
drink  alone  ?"  said  Gamp  to  Edwird.  "  Take  a  little  for  com- 
pany's sake.  You  haven't  tried  this  yet." 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Edward,  a  little  confusedly.  "I 
believe  I  have  taken  enough,  it  doesn't  agree  with  me." 

"  That's  all  fancy  sir,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  Really,  I 
shall  take  it  quite  amiss  if  you  refuse  to  pass  judgment 
upon  this  Champagne."  As  he  finished  speaking,  he  passed 
another  goblet  to  the  reluctant  young  man,  who  did  not 
know  what  else  to  do,  so  took  it  from  his  hand,  and  com- 
menced sipping  it.  By  the  time  that  was  gone,  it  was  quite 
a  dubious  point  to  him,  whether  Mr.  Gamp  or  Dr.  Higgins 
were  talking  to  him,  or  a  little  of  both.  He  had  never  felt 
quite  so  bad  before.  He  began  to  entertain  a  singular  suspi- 
cion of  himself. 

There  was  no  business  worth  speaking  of  to  transact,  so 


162  KATE   WESTON. 

there  was  no  need  of  Edward's  remaining  longer.  As  the 
door  closed  after  him,  Gamp  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"A  capital  joke  that,"  he  cried,  "Higgins,  don't  you  believe 
his  father'll  stare  when  he  sees  that  pattern  son  that '  he  isn't 
a  bit  afraid  of,'  staggering  home  in  that  style.  Well,  Hig- 
gins, there's  no  danger  of  leading  you  astray,  you  tender 
lamb,  ugh !"  A  leer  of  contempt  gleamed  in  those  malicious 
eyes  as  he  spoke.  You'll  take  good  care  of  your  health  and 
your  money,  and  somebody'll  take  good  care  of  you,  never 
fear.  You  might  come  to  the  gallows  yet,  but  you  won't  be 
dragged  there  by  the  common  agent,  that's  sure.  You're  too 
cunning  for  that.  Drink  away,  no  fear  of  your  hurting  your- 
self." 

Dr.  Higgins  took  this  complimentary  address  quite  stoic- 
ally, looking  as  resigned  and  sanctified  as  though  he  were  a 
Bunyan  or  a  Latimev  being  persecuted  for  Ms  religion. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  after  coolly  dispatching  his  fifth 
glass  of  wine,  "  Your  business  is  pretty  much  settled,  I  sup- 
pose !" 

"  No,"  answered  Gamp,  with  a  sneer,  "  it  tickles  me  so,  this 
wonderful  youth  nibbling  the  bait  so  readily ;  I've  had  many 
a  harder  case  than  that.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  took  to  it 
naturally  now." 

"He's  young,  excitable,  and  unsuspecting,"  said  Higgins 
morosely,  "  I  wouldn't  lead  him  any  further." 

Gamp  interrupted  him  with  a  mocking  laugh.  "  You  don't 
want  to  lose  a  profitable  pupil.  D o*n't  be  afraid ;  if  the  devil 
wants  him,  he's  employed  a  better  teacher  for  him  than  I  am, 
and  'tain't  likely  he'll  take  him  out  of  your  hands.  It  was  only 
for  a  little  joke  on  that  swaggering  father  of  his,  I  knocked 
the  chap  over  a  bit  to-day.  I'll  not  meddle  with  him  any 
more,  if  he  doesn't  come  of  his  own  accord,  unless  I  get  a 
gambling  concern  out  here,  and  then  I  shall  naturally  fleece 
him  to  clothe  myself,  ha,  ha !  Or  if  he  tampers  with  Bill — 
I  saw  the  young  imp  cower  a  little  more  than  common  this 


KATE    WESTON.  163 

morning,  if  he  attempts  to  " he  did  not  say  what — "  by 

heaven,  they  shall  both  curse  the  day  they  were  born !"  The 
ominous  squint  grew  into  a  scowl  of  defiance,  and  his  fist  was 
clenched. 

"  What  hold  have  you  got  over  that  boy  ?"  asked  Higgins, 
pouring  some  more  wine ;  "  he  acts  as  though  he  expected  you 
to  murder  him  with  that  frightened  look  of  his.  Everybody 
sees  it." 

"  What  do  I  care  if  they  do  ?"  shouted  Gamp.  "  Maybe 
I  shall  some  day,  not  all  at  once  though.  Never  you  mind 
now,"  he  added,  lowering  his  tone,  we've  had  business  together 
none  of  the  whitest  before  this ;  you've  got  secrets  tha-t  are 
nothing  to  me,  I've  no  doubt,  and  I've  got  some  maybe  that 
don't  concern  you.  It's  for  our  interest  to  keep  mum  as  far 
as  possible  on  each  other's  affairs.  I  owed  the  boy's  father  a 
grudge,  that's  all.  Poh,  'tisn't  worth  telling !" 

Higgins,  in  whom  prudence  was  the  reigning  cardinal  vir- 
tue, concluded  that  it  was  advisable  to  hold  his  tongue.  The 
two  friends  stretched  their  feet  out  to  the  fire,  and  lit  their 
cigars.  We  will  leave  them  to  a  quiet  smoke,  and  run  along 
after  Edward  as  he  bends  his  steps  towards  home. 

It  was'  a  clear  winter's  morning.  The  snow  spread  asvay 
in  an  unbroken  sheet  of  white,  sending  back  the  rays  that 
flashed  upon  its  bosom.  A  quiet  beauty  bathed  the  trees 
whose  pendent  icicles  outvied  the  diamond's  lustre :  the  hills 
all  rosy  in  the  morning  sun-light ;  the  fields  stretching  away  to 
the  calm  river  gliding  in  the  distance ;  the  cloudless  winter  sky- 
that  arched  the  whole  landscape ;  the  dazzling  sun  that  smiled 
down  upon  the  world,  as  though  no  broken  hearts  were  there. 

And  heedless  of  it  all,  he  who  so  loved  to  mark  their  glo- 
ries reeled  on  over  the  slippery  road,  scarce  able  to  keep  from 
falling.  Strange  fancies  crowded  through  his  brain.  His 
head  whirled  painfully.  He  sat  down  in  the  road  to  rest.  A 
little  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  Maggie,  look- 
ing very  bright  and  cheerful,  with  her  basket  on  her  arm. 


164  KATE    WESTON 

"  Are  you  ill,  Mr.  Edward  ?"  she  said  softly,  touching  him. 
He  turned  round  and  looked  into  her  face.  She  started  back 
in  alarm,  with  a  sudden  exclamation  of  surprise. 

He  spoke  to  her,  "  Y-Yes,  I  b-lieve  I'm  sick ;  where — 
am  I  ?" 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  on  her  mind,  though  she 
could  hardly  believe  her  senses,  as  she  saw  him  sitting .  there, 
with  that  strange,  wild  look.  It  reminded  her  of  her  mother. 
What  should  she  do  ?  Two  figures  were  coming  toward  her. 
She  knew  them  both  by  sight,  though  she  had  never  spoken 
to  them.  The  younger  one  stooped  a  little,  as  though  skulk- 
ing from  an  enemy.  They  came  up  to  where  he  was  sitting 
in  the  road,  and  she  standing  beside  him.  She  looked  up 
into  the  face  of  the  taller  of  the  two. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Steele !"  bursting  into  tears.  He  stooped  down 
in  alarm  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  He,  too,  started  back 
suddenly,  while  the  other  boy  mumbled  to  himself,  "  Just  so. 
I  knew  it.  Always  so." 

"  Take  hold,  Bill,  and  help  him  up,"  said  Steele,  to  the 
other.  "  He  must  get  home,  at  all  events.  I  did  not  think  it 
would  be  so  with  him."  Two  or  three  tears  dropped  from 
between  the  long  points  of  the  collar,  as  the  intoxicated  youth 
strove  to  rise,  and,  failing  in  his  attempts,  fell  heavily  upon 
the  crusted  snow. 

"  I  think — I'm — worse,"  he  stammered.  "  Father'll — can't 
— you  get  me — a  drink.  Halloa — Steele — you  there  ?  Bless 
you — boy — what  makes  you  come — out  here  in  the  snow  ?" 
He  was  evidently  striving  to  appear  sober,  and  was  evidently 
growing  worse  every  moment. 

"  I'm  afraid  he'll  never  be  able  to  reach  home,"  said  Steele, 
with  a  sorrowful  perplexity  of  tone  and  look.  "  What  can 
I  do  ?" 

Maggie  first  looked  at  one,  then  at  the  other,  as  though 
waiting  anxiously  for  their  decision.  _  The  younger  boy  looked 
more  jaded  and  despairing  than  ever,  as  he  stood  there,  gaz- 


KATE   WESTON.  165 

ing  into  the  flushed  face  of  his  morning's  confidant.  At  last, 
when  no  one  said  a  w*ord,  the  little  girl  looked  timidly  up. 
"  Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "  I  know  where  to  take  him,  if  you 
think  so.  His  father'd  feel  so  bad." 

Steele  shook  his  head.  "  Not  to  Mr.  Terry's,"  he  answered, 
"  that's  too  far." 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  there,  sir.  Its  just  round  the  corner,  in 
that  little  house;  Rosy  lives  there. " 

"  And  who  is  Rosy  ?" 

"Mr.  Weston's  Rosy.  Joe's  Mr.  Weston's  man,  and 
Rosy's  his  wife.  She  goes  across  the  fields  to  his  house 
every  day." 

"  Maybe  she's  not  there,"  said  Steele,  hesitating. 

"  Won't  you  please  come  and  see,  sir ;  she  wouldn't  tell 
anybody,  and  his  father  wouldn't  find  it  out  then,  either." 

It  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done  under  the  circumstances, 
so  they  started  for  the  cottage,  Steele  on  one  side  of  Edward, 
and  Billy  on  the  other,  while  Maggie  ran  before  to  prepare 
Rosy  for  the  arrival.  She  knocked  at  the  door,  all  out  of 
breath,  and  the  turbaned  head  made  its  appearance. 

"  Oh,  Rosy,  I'm  so  glad  you're  here ;  Mr.  Edward  is  sick  on 
the  road,  and  they  are  going  to  bring  him  here.  Don't  tell 
anybody,  Rosy,  dear.  He's  so  bad." 

"  Not  tell  nobody  ?"  cried  Rosy.  "  What  are  you  gwine 
to  tell  nobody  fur(  What's  the  matter,  sweety  ?" 

But  she  need  not  ask,  for  as  she  finished  speaking,  the  three 
turned  the  corner,  and  advanced  under  the  trees  towards  her. 

"  Lord  hab  mercy  on  him,  he's  been  an'  got  drunk,"  she 
cried,  raising  her  hands  in  astonishment.  "  What  is  we  a 
coming  to,  dat's  all  ?" 

"  Billy,"  said  Clarence,  as  they  entered  the  house,  "  walk  in 
— poor  fellow — I'm  sick  now — but  I  will  help  you  yet. 
Come  in." 

The  boy  followed  him.  Steele  laid  him  on  Rosy's  bed, 
while  Maggie  whispered  : — 


166  KATE   WESTON. 

"There  sir,  we  will  see  to  him  now.  You  needn't  stay 
any  longer.  I'm  so  sorry." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes  again,  but  she  wiped  them 
away,  and  followed  him  to  the  door,  "Please,  sir,  don't  tell 
of  it,"  she  said  softly,  as  he  stood  upon  the  steps. 

"  No,  child,  certainly,"  he  answered.  "  You're  a  good  little 
girl." 

She  blushed  at  the  abrupt  compliment,  saying  simply,  "  No, 
sir,  not  at  all.  I  love  him  so.  Maybe  I'd  have  died,  if" — 
she  was  interrupted  by  Rosy's  calling  to  her : — 

"  Maggie,"  she  said,  at  the  same  time  coming  to  the  door, 
"  Mr.  Edward  wants  you  an'  Billy  dar.  Mebbe  better  both 
on  you  stay  till  he  gits  asleep,  or  he'll  be  a  kickin'  up  a  muss. 
I  nebber  b'lieved  I'd  have  dat  'ar  rumseller's  chap  in  dar. 
Dey's  all  sons  ob  de  devil — dey  is.  'Pears  I  can't  help  it 
now  though,  no  ways." 

"  Good  bye,  sir,"  said,  Maggie,  turning  away.  "  Thank 
you,  sir."  She  seated  herself  on  one  side  of  the  bed,  and  the 
boy  on  the  other.  They  kept  very  still,  but  they  didn't  have 
to  watch  long,  for  he  was  asleep  in  five  minutes. 

"  Dar  now,"  said  Rosy,  "  you  kin  just  go  'bout  your  busi- 
ness now.  I'll  take  care  ob  him  till  he  gits  over.  Why, 
what's  the  matter  wid  yer,  boy  ?  got  him  tipsy,  and  den  a  cryin' 
over  it.  Go  'long.  I  nebber  seed  nuffin  like  yer."  She  spoke 
in  a  tone  of  honest  indignation  to  poor  Billy,  who  had 
covered  his  face  with  both  hands,  and  was  weeping  silently. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  get  him  so,"  he  sobbed,  "  don't  think  it  of 
me." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  sniffecatin'  for  den,  dough  you's  got 
enough,  de  Lord  knows,"  she  answered,  frowning  at  him 
severely. 

"  Don't,  I'm  sorry — I'm  sorry,"  he  murmured.  "  It's  always 
so ;  I  never  see  it  no  other  way.  I  wish  I  could  die." 

"  De  Lord  wouldn't  hab  no  mercy  on  yer,  if  yer  was  to  die 
now,"  said  Rosy,  a  little  softened.  "  Ye've  got  to  git  out  o' 


KATE    WE6TON.  167 

dat  awful  place,  where  yer  kills  folks,  an'  -repent  in  dust  an' 
ashes.  Mebbe  ye'rs  doin'  it  now,  is  yer  ?"  She  gazed  at  him 
in  considerable  perplexity  of  mind  as  to  the  sources  of  his 
sorrow. 

He  didn't  answer  her,  but  after  a  little  wiped  his  eyes,  and 
rising,  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Well,  Rosy,  I  must  go  too,"  said  Maggie,  or  I  shan't  be 
home  in  time.  "  You'll  take  care  of  him,"  glancing  at  the 
sleeper. 

"  Nebber  you  fear,  dear  cretur,"  answered  Rosy.  "  Don't 
I  know  what  de  wretches  is  up  to  ?"  casting  'an  indignant 
glance  at  Billy.  "  My  Joe's  come  home  jest  so,  lot's  o'  times, 
since  they  got  out  here.  It'll  kill  me  right  out,  ef  he  keeps 
on  so.  He  can't  help  it,  poor  feller.  They's  oilers  a  seticin' 
ob  him  on.  Fse  afeard  nobody  dat  gits  in  dar'll  eber  git  out 
again.  Poor  Missy  Katy.  Ef  Mas'r  Edward  keeps  on,  it'll 
break  her  heart,  like  its  a  breakin'  mine."  Two  or  three 
great  sobs  heaved  the  broad  breast  as  she  bid  Maggie  goodbye, 
and  returned  to  watch  beside  her  charge. 

The  boy  and  girl  left  the  door  together.  She  walked  along 
at  his  side.  He  looked  awkward  and  miserable.  She  turned 
her  eyes  pityingly  upon  his  face.  At  length  she  ventured  to 
speak. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,"  she  said  gently. 

He  looked  confused,  not  knowing  what  to  answer. 

"  I  know  what  the  matter  is,"  she  continued,  more  gently  than 
before.  "  You  are  unhappy,  you  don't  like  your  place,  nor.  your 
master." 

"  I  didn't  say  so,  did  I  ?"  he  asked  with  a  half  glance  of 
alarm. 

"  No,  but  I  know  it  without.  How  did  it  come  ?  that,  I 
mean,  you  know." 

"  I  wasn't  there  at  all.  He  sent  me  off  this  morning.  Mr. 
Clarence  was  there.  He  wasn't  so  then." 

"  It's  too  bad,"  sighed  the  little  girl.    "  Don't  you  think  so  2" 


168  KATE    WESTON. 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  spoke  real  sym- 
pathy, and  it  encouraged  her  companion. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  answered.  "  Everything's  too  bad  there. 
I'm  too  bad.  Nobody  ever  comes  there,  but  they  get  just  like 
him,  and  a  great  deal  worse." 

Then  turning  towards  her,  he  asked  suddenly, "  What  made 
you  cry  ?  Do  you  live  with  him  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  love  him  very  much.  I  was  a  little  beggar  in 
New  York,  and  he  took  care  of  me.  He's  very  good." 

"  Yes.  I  like  him,"  he  answered,  "  haven't  you  got  any 
father  and  mother  ?" 

"  I've  got  a  mother,  but  she  can't  ever  see  me  or  do  any- 
thing for  me.  I  might  just  as  well  not  have  any." 

"I  haven't  any  at  all,"  said  her  companion  dejectedly; 
"  I  don't  know  as  I  have  a  friend  in  the  world.  Mr.  Clarence 
was  very  kind  to  me  this  morning.  He  looked  pleasanter 
than  any  body  has  in  a  long.  time.  Nobody  likes  me,  or  cares 
for  me." 

Two  or  three  tears  sparkled  on  the  little  girl's  eyelashes  as 
she  looked  up  at  the  melancholy  face.  "/  care  for  you,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  you.  I  like  you  too.  I  thought 
just  as  you  do,  before  he  took  me  out  here  to  Mrs.  Terry's." 

The  pitying  words  went  direct  to  the  poor  fellow's  heart, 
and  melted  the  ice  there.  He  rubbed  his  sleeve  across  his 
eyes,  and  drew  a  long  breath,  but  didn't  say  anything.  By 
this  tune  they  had  reached  the  corner.  Each  paused  a  mo- 
ment before  they  parted. 

"  Do  you  ever  pray  ?"  asked  Maggie  softly.  "  Do  I  do 
what  ?"  he  said,  turning  towards  her. 

"Pray — pray  to  God  to  be  your  %  friend.  That's  the  way  I 
did,  and  He  was  my  friend.  He  sent  Mr.  Clarence  after  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"  Why  Mrs.  Terry  said  so."  I  used  to  have  a  teacher  once 
who  told  me  always  to  do  that  when  I  was  in  trouble.  I  was 
in  a  great  deal  of  trouble  then,  for  I  thought  I  should  starve, 


KATE    WESTON.  169 

so  I  prayed  to  Him  for  Jesus  sake  to  help  me  out,  and  He 
did.  He  always  does.  Won't  you  pray  f ' 

"  I  don't  know  how.     I  never  prayed  in  my  life." 

"  Never  did !  Poor  Billy  !"  Here  there  was  an  awkward 
pause,  during  which  the  boy  looked  at  the  ground,  and  the 
child  pityingly  into  his  face. 

At  length  she  added,  "  J)on't  you  go  to  Sabbath-school  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Nor  to  church  ?" 

"No." 

"  Why  ?  won't  he  let  you  go  out  Sundays  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  want  to.  But  I  don't  care  for  anything.  I  go 
and  lie  down  in  the  fields  where  I  can't  see  him" 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  church  ?" 

"  Nobody  wants  me  there.  .  I'm  too  bad.  Everybody  knows 
I'm  too  bad  to  go  there." 

"  That  isn't  the  way  to  think.  The  worse  you  are  the  more 
need  for  your  going  there.  What  do  you  do  so  dreadful  bad  ?" 

"  Stay  there.  Do  you  suppose  anybody  that  stays  there  is 
fit  to  go  to  church  ?" 

The  little  girl  smiled.    "  But  it  isn't  that  makes  you  wicked." 

He  looked  up  in  blank  astonishment.  Poor  fellow !  That 
had  always  seemed  to  him  the  sum  and  substance  of  his  evil 
doings,  and  he  cowered  under  it  with  as  much  shame  as 
though  he  could  have  helped  himself. 

Maggie  smiled  again.  "  Won't  you  come  to  church  next 
Sunday  morning  ?  I'll  watch  for  you.  You  can  learn  to  be 
good  there." 

Billy  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  but  assented  bashfully  to 
her  proposition. 

"  I'll  pray  for  you,  too,  Billy.  Can't  you  pray  ?  It's  very 
easy.  Just  ask  God,  for  Jesus's  sake,  to  take  care  of  you,  and 
make  you  better.  That's  all.  I  can't  stay  any  longer  now  ; 
good-bye." 

She  gave  him  a  farewell  glance  of  sympathy,  and  ran 
8 


170  KATE    WESTOX. 

quickly  along  over  the  snow  with  her  little  basket  dangling 
from  her  arm,  trying  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  He  looked 
after  her  a  few  minutes,  wiped  his  eyes  again,  and  walked 
wearily  in  the  opposite  direction.  But  the  pale  face  looked  a 
little  less  jaded,  the  bent  figure  a  little  less  drooping,  and  a 
small  gleam  of  something  like  hope  played  in  the  sunken  eye. 
It  seemed  so  strange  for  anybody  to  say  a  kind  word  to  him. 
He  had  never  had  loving  words  spoken  to  him,  and  kind 
deeds  done.  Blows,  and  hatred,  and  violence  had  been  his 
portion.  He  had  seen  sights  that  might  have  turned  his  heart 
to  stone.  But  there  was  a  something  down  in  its  far  depths 
that  would  not  let  him  become  that  for  which  he  had  been 
trained. 

Some  flowers  will  live  year  after  year  shut  out  from  the  nour- 
ishing sun-light ;  but  they  lose  their  brilliant  hues,  their  fra- 
grance, their  beauty.  So  some  hearts  may  be  nurtured  in 
moral  darkness,  with  no  ray  of  knowledge,  or  piety,  or  love  to 
call  out  the  hidden  talents  and  virtues  that  shed  lustre  upon 
man's  career.  So  it  was  with  the  dejected  victim  of  the  rum- 
seller.  So  it  is  with  thousands  in  our  Christian  land,  growing 
up  in  worse  darkness  than  that  of  heathenism.  Oh,  there 
are  many  spots  in  every  city  and  village  of  our  Republic, 
where  shadows  fall  heavier  and  denser  than  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Ganges,  or  the  shores  of  benighted  Africa.  And  they 
fall  densest  above  the  distillery  and  the  porter-house,  the  grog- 
shop, and  the  drunkard's  home. 

Christians  of  America !  as  you  pour  out  your  wealth  to 
send  light  to  darker  lands,  looking  above  and  beyond  the 
blight  that  sweeps  along  your  own — listen !  A  wail  swells 
from  your  eastern  to  your  western  shores — a  wail  of  human 
agony  from  breaking  hearts  —  pouring  alike  from  hamlet 
and  city.  The  mother's  shriek  of  despair,  the  last  groan 
of  the  murdered  wife,  the  cry  of  innocent  babyhood,  the  rav- 
ings of  the  dying  inebriate,  the  curses  of  the  ruined  outcast, 
the  fierce  blasphemy  of  the  incarcerated  felon,  going  up  in 


KATE    WESTON.  171 

one  eternal  chorus  to  the  throne  of  God.  "  Having  eyes,  ye 
see  not,  having  ears,  ye  hear  not."  Will  you  not  look  ?  will 
you  not  listen?  You  may  lift  this  mountain  of  vice  and 
misery  from  your  soil,  and  cast  it  into  the  depths  of  the  sea ; 
not  by  your  puny  single  hands,  that  crumble  now  and  then  a 
fragment  from  the  rock,  but  by  the  mighty  lever  of  the  law  ! 
A  law  made  by  strong-hearted  freemen  to  give  back  liberty 
to  their  weaker  comrades.  Throw  soul  and  strength  into  the 
great  struggle  for  the  right.  See  the  plague  lying  at  your  own 
doors,  ready  to  seize  upon  your  own  child  or  brother,  and 
battle  it  away  as  though  you  felt  its  sting  in  your  own 
heart. 

Do  this,  and  the  time  shall  come  when  you  may  turn  your 
prisons  into  churches,  and  your  drunkards  into  men.  Remem- 
ber— that  through  all  the  broad  field  of  human  toil  and 
struggle,  "  there's  no  such  word  as  fail." 


172  KATE   WESTON. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EBEN  JONES  Laving  been  hard  at  work  all  day,  had  come 
home  to  supper.  No  very  agreeable  prospect  before  him  cer- 
tainly, as  he  opened  the  back  door,  and  stepped  into  the 
kitchen.  A  dirty  wash-tub  filled  up  the  passage-way,  Avhich  he 
adroitly  managed  to  avoid,  only,  however,  to  have  his  inge- 
nuity taxed  in  making  his  way  through  a  perfect  labyrinth  of 
household  utensils  that  had  been  thrown  down,  here,  there, 
and  everywhere,  to  suit  the  convenience  of  the  user. 

Two  or  three  cracked  iron  pots  stood  along  in  front  of  the 
stove ;  a  couple  of  dingy-looking  pans  of  bread  lay  on  one  side 
of  it,  as  though  just  taken  from  the  oven  ;  a  Avash-boiler, 
half  full  of  dirty  suds,  was  set  close.upon  the  opposite  side,  two  or 
three  armfuls  of  Avood  lay  scattered  among  the  whole,  and  a 
battered  tea-kettle  was  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  stove,  as 
though  holding  absolute  sway  over  its  humbler  neighbors. 

Upon  the  table  by  the  window,  all  kinds  of  articles  lay 
jumbled  up  together  in  a  most  interesting  state  of  confusion. 
A  pail  of  flour,  a  pan  of  soft-soap,  a  dish  of  butter,  a  paper 
of  saleratus,  a  dish-tub  filled  with  swill,  half  a  loaf  of  bread, 
and  a  pile  of  wet  clothes  formed  the  staple  lading  of  the 
accomodating  table,  not  to  speak  of  various  smaller  articles, 
that,  as  it  were,  set  off  the  above-mentioned  to  the  best 
advantage.  A  small  space  in  front  between  the  swill-tub  and 
the  clothes  was  sprinkled  with  flour  and  bits  of  dough  from 
the  bread  that  Mrs.  Jones  had  been  kneading  there ;  but  the 
kneading-tray,  pitcher  of  water,  yeast-pail,  &c.,  were  ranged 
on  chairs  at  either  side,  while  a  few  jugs,  skillets,  and  tin  pan's 
lay  scattered  tastefully  about  the  floor. 


KATE    WESTON.  173 

It  was  too  common  a  state  of  affairs  for  Mr.  Jones  to  notice, 
so  he  went  straight  into  the  other  room,  where  his  amiable 
helpmeet  was  dispensing  supper  and  good  advice  to  her  chil- 
dren, who  paid  vigorous  attention  to  the  first,  and  utterly  dis- 
regarded the  last,  save  when  it  came  in  the  shape  of  a  ringing 
box  on  the  ear,  or  a  slap  upon  the  shoulder.  No  higher 
praise  can  be  lavished  upon  the  table  and  its  accompaniments, 
than  the  assurance  that  it  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  the 
place  where  it  had  been  prepared.  The  young  Joneses, 
unwashed  and  unkempt,  presented  a  picture  of  dirt  and  neglect 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  any  Hottentot,  a  fact  appa- 
rently obvious  to  the  lady  mother,  from  the  occasional  remarks 
she  let  fall  upon  the  subject. 

"  Jake,  couldn't  you  have  decency  enough  about  you  to  get 
a  splice  of  that  ere  dirt  off  your  face  before  you  come  to 
your  supper  ?  I  declare  you're  the  worst,  nastiest  lumrnux 
that  ever  sat  down  to  a  Christian  woman's  table." 

What  evidence  the  poor  fellow  had  that  he  was  at  a  Chris- 
tian woman's  table,  we  have  no  power  to  say ;  doubtless  his 
mother  had  her  own  reasons  for  saying  so,  though  they 
certainly  wouldn't  have  been  obvious  to  an  unenlightened 
observer. 

"  Now  Beccy,  don't  be  a  chopping  at  the  meat  like  a  pig. 
Here's  your  father  a'  comin,'  and  I  reckon  he'll  be  wanting  a 
little  on't.  Jake,  take  your  fingers  out  o'  the  sugar-bowl, 
they're  dirty  as  pison."  Catching  an  assurance  in  an  under- 
tone to  the  effect  that  she  was  a  "  darned  mean  critter,"  she 
bestowed  upon  the  disrespectful  young  gentleman  a  vigorous 
stroke  of  her  by  no  means  delicate  hand,  causing  him  to 
shake  his  head  very  threateningly,  as  soon  as  her  eyes  were 
occupied  with  some  other  culprit. . 

"  Well  Eben,"  she  said  as  her  husband  entered,  "  how  does 
things  get  on  up  to  the  Clarence's  ?  I  reckon  you'll  hardly 
get  much  work  there  till  spring." 

Her  husband  presented  the  appearance  of  a  man  broken 


174  KATE    WESTON. 

down,  not  so  much  by  labor  as  vexation  of  spirit.  Not  ill- 
looking,  but  with  a  kind  of  settled  expression  of  pain  upon 
his  hard  features,  that  made  him  rather  disagreeable.  Find- 
ing it  to  his  disadvantage,  however,  to  take  any  notice  of  the 
cause  of  all  his  troubles,  he  had  years  ago  settled  down  into 
a  kind  of  desperate  resignation,  that,  perhaps  was  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  to  avoid  falling  a  prey  to  utter  despair. 

"  I  shall  get  enough  to  do  now,"  he  answered,  "  Teddy 
Toole  is  discharged,  he's  never  sober,  and  Mr.  Clarence  can't 
do  nothing  with  him,  so  he's  give  it  up  for  a  bad  job,  an'  I'm 
to  get  his  place." 

"Do  tell  now !"  ejaculated  his  wife,  "he  was  such  a  first  rate 
worker  too.  Well,  now  I  am  just  glad  on  it ;  that  stuck  up 
Kitty  Toole  was  for  ever  a  boasting  about  her  fine  things  ;  1 
guess  she'll  have  to  sell  her  smart  carpet  after  a  while.  Look 
out  now,  you  don't  get  drunk  an'  lose  your  place  too ;  you 
an't  nothing  better  than  you  should  be,  I'll  be  bound.  You 
young  imps,  what  are  you  quarrelling  about  now  ?"  she  cried, 
turning  to  where  her  two  eldest  olive-branches  were  keeping 
up  a  vigorous  fire  of  kicks  under  the  table. 

"  Jake's  a'  maMn'  snoots  at  me  " — cried  Beccy,  giving  a 
more  violent  thrust  of  her  heavy  shoe  against  her  brother's 
ankle,  while  he  administered  an  affectionate  pinch  as  an  offset 
to  her  assault.  They  set  up  a  roar  simultaneously.  "  She's  a 
kickin'  of  my  shins,  she's  got  the  skin  all  off,  I  know,"  he 
cried,  at  the  same  time  lifting  his  foot  almost  level  with  his 
plate. 

"  Hold  your  tongues,  you  young  catamounts !"  cried  Mrs. 
Jones.  "  I'll  take  the  skin  off  o'  both  on  you ;  I  should  think 
you'd  been  a  wadin'  in  the  pig-sty  by  the  looks  of  your 
feet." 

"  He's  a  pinchin'  me  orful !"  bellowed  Beccy ;  "  my  arm's  all 
black  and  blue.  I  wont  stop,  so  /"  and  she  administered  a 
smart  slap  upon  his  cheek  with  her  greasy  hand.  This  being 
returned  with  interest  by  her  brother,  there  is  no  telling  to 


KATE    WESTON.  175 

what  length  they  might  have  gone,  had  not  their  mother 
stepped  between  them,  and  dealt  a  few  powerful  whacks  on 
either  side,  until  they  were  glad  to  content  themselves  with 
scowling  at  one  another,  and  bestowing  such  sly  thrusts 
under  the  table  as  would  not  come  under  the  range  of  their 
mother's  eye. 

"  If  you'd  a  had  one  grain  o'  common  sense,"  she  continued, 
when  justice  had  been  administered,  "you'd never  a  let  him 
get  in  there  afore.  I  told  you  that  three  years  ago  when  he 
wanted  to  hire.  You  might  a  been  smarted  up  as  grand  as 
him,  if  you'd  only  followed  my  advice.  But  it  ain't  of  no  sort 
o'  use,  I  might  talk  till  dooms-day,  an'  you'd  never  be  the 
better  for  it." 

Her  husband  didn't  answer,  but  he  thought  of  the  kitchen 
in  connection  with  the  "  smarting  up,"  at  the  same  time  feel- 
ing as  positive  as  herself  of  the  truth  of  her  last  assertion. 

"There  comes  the  cow,  Sally,"  remarked  her  husband,  as 
they  were  finishing  tea,  "  I  suppose  it's  time  she  was  milked. 
Are  you  going  to  milk  her  ?" 

"  /  going  to  milk,  indeed !  are  you  crazy  entirely,  you  lazy 
chap  ?  /  goin'  to  milk.  Just  look  at  the  pile  of  work  I've 
had  to  do  to-day,  an'  never  stopped  since  five  o'clock  this 
morning.  Get  along  out  o'  this,  or  I'll  do  something  you 
won't  like,  and  don't  let  me  see  your  face  again  till  you  fetch 
me  the  milk  all  strained ;  you  know  me  well  enough,  when  my 
temper's  riz." 

Poor  Mr.  Jones  did  know  her  well  enough  when  her  "  tem- 
per was  riz,"  and  felt  that  he  had  been  peculiarly  unfortunate 
in  making  such  a  remark,  for  his  better  half  had  fully  intended 
to  dispatch  one  of  the  children  on  the  business  under  discus- 
sion, but  the  question  he  asked,  had  so  aggravated  her,  that 
she  was  determined  to  make  him  do  penance.  He,  finding 
opposition  worse  for  him  in  the  end,  always  yielded  indiscri- 
minately to  her  demands. 

"  Now,  Beccy,  do  you  just  stir  about  a  bit,  and  help  me 


176  KATE    WESTOX. 

clear  up  the  things.  I  don't  expect  you'll  do  nothing  though, 
you're  too  much  like  your  dad  for  that.  Jake,  do  you 
just  go  along  and  saw  the  wood  for  morning.  You  young 
'uns  may  as  well  go  to  bed.  If  my  brats  were  like  other 
folkses,  now,  Beccy'd  take  and  give  all  on  you  a  sound  wash- 
ing, afore  she'd  let  you  go  so  pison-nasty  off  to  bed ;  but  I 
was  never  nothing  but  a  tormented  wretch  since  I  was  born, 
and  I  don't  expect  to  be  nothing  else  till  I  die." 

When  the  cow  was  milked,  the  obedient  husband  ventured 
to  remark,  "  Sally,  I  was  to  go  over  after  supper  to  see  Mr. 
Clarence  ;  he  had  something  to  tell  me  about  my  work." 

"  Pretty  work,  I  should  think,"  cried  she,  giving  a  pecu- 
liarly cross  curl  to  her  ugly  mouth,  "  if  you  must  be  off  all 
day,  and  then  go  prancing  off  of  an  evening ;  it's  only  an 
excuse,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Well,  but  if  I  do  not  go,"  he  said,  deprecatingly,  "  I'll  be 
very  likely  to  lose  my  place,  that's  all." 

"  I  don't  believe  nothin'  o'  the  sort,"  she  answered.  "  It's 
just  'cause  you  want  to  get  over  to  Gamp's,  I  know.  Well, 
you  can  go,  as  Mr.  Clarence  wants  you,  but  mind  if  you  go 
nigh  the  rum,  I'll  skin  you,  see  if  I  don't,  now ;"  and  she 
enforced  her  words  with  a  most  formidable  shake  of  her 
brawny  arm. 

So  Eben  Jones  started  on  to  Mr.  Clarence's,  thinking  to 
himself  how  some  men  were  blessed  in  loving  wives  and 
happy  homes,  while  he — well  it  was  no  use.  The  less  said 
and  thought  the  better,  but  of  one  thing  he  was  sure.  If 
those  who  rallied  him  about  the  lady  of  his  choice,  could 
stand  for  one  week  in  his  place,  they  would  find  it  was  no 
fault  of  his,  that  he  tried  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter, 
and  even  sometimes  submitted  to  indignity  of  the  worst 
character,  rather  than  endure  the  abuse  of  a  woman's  tongue, 
and  the  weight  of  a  woman's  hand. 

Mrs.  Jones  having  settled  everything,  which  operation  con- 
sisted in  getting  the  children  off  to  bed,  the  various  articles 


KATE    WESTON.  177 

in  the  kitchen  huddled  indiscriminately  into  the  pantry,  and 
Jake  and  Beccy  seated  over  the  same  apple-basket,  paring  and 
quartering,  at  the  same  time  that  they  took  advantage  of 
their  proximity  to  snarl  at  one  another  to  their  heart's  con- 
tent, slipped  out  at  the  door,  with  a  jug  in  her  hand,  and 
started  off  for  a  drop  of  comfort  after  her  miserable  day. 
The  way  was  very  lonely,  but  it  made  no  difference  to  her. 
If  spoken  to,  she  would  have  as  soon  knocked  the  offender 
down,  as  used  the  broom-stick  to  her  delinquent  husband. 

In  one  portion  of  the  road,  a  bridge  with  no  railing  at  the 
side  lay  over  a  deep  chasm,  filled  with  rocks.  As  she  passed 
it,  she  looked  over  the  edge  and  shuddered.  She  would  have 
been  ready  to  pour  out  her  wrath  upon  her  husband,  had  he 
been  travelling  on  the  same  errand,  but  in  her  own  case  it 
was  entirely  different.  "  Didn't  she  feel  worn  out  with  her 
day's  work,  and  trying  to  make  something  out  of  those  good 
for  nothing  brats.  Hadn't  she  more  need  of  it,  poor,  unhappy 
creature  that  she  was,  than  any  woman  in  the  village  ?" 

So  she  laid  in  a  supply,  and  returned,  rejoicing  that  she 
could,  at  any  rate,  "drive  dull  care  away,"  now  and  then, 
without  any  one's  being  the  wiser  for  it  either. 

When  her  husband  had  finished  his  business  with  Mr. 
Clarence,  he  started  for  home,  but  meeting  Teddy  Toole,  was 
prevailed  upon  by  him  to  turn  in  for  a  little  into  the  Saloon. 
Sundry  misgivings  as  to  the  nature  of  his  home  reception,  if 
his  breath  should  betray  his  indulgence,  skimmed  across  his 
mind,  as  his  companion  shoved  along  a  glass  of  Brandy  and 
water.  This  was  quite  evident  to  the  red-whiskered  man, 
who  was  also  one  of  the  party. 

"No  matter,  Jones,"  he  cried,  "just  drink  for  once  in  your 
life,  and  forget  your  troubles.  Don't  go  about  for  ever  with 
that  horrible  scowl  upon  your  face.  Better  get  drunk  at  once, 
and  put  a  merry  face  on  the  matter.  If  you  was  pretty  well 
gone  now,  you  wouldn't  mind  a  gentle  beating  at  all." 

"  Hould  your  tongue,  Jonathan,"  interrupted  Teddy  good- 
8* 


178  KATE    WESTON. 

naturedly.  "  What'll  you  be  after  taxing  the  poor  fellow  for  ? 
It's  enough  sure  he's' got  to  worry  the  sowl  out  of  him,  with- 
out your  vexing  him  any  more." 

"  Sure  as  I  live,"  said  Jonathan  earnestly,  "  I  don't  mean 
no  insult.  I  was  only  a  telling  him  for  his  own  good,  an'  I 
don't  believe  I'd  be  a  bit  different  if  I  had  such  a  wife. 
Now,  Jones  knows  I'm  his  friend,  an'  that's  just  what  I  advise 
him  to  do.  Eum'll  keep  the  blue  devils  out  better  'n  any- 
thing I  know  on." 

No  one  present  seemed  to  ask  themselves  what  kind  of 
devils  that  same  rum  let  in,  for  Toole  ordered  three  glasses  of 
brandy  and  water,  and  they  all  partook.  Jones,  however, 
refused  to  indulge  further. 

"  What  a  silly  chap  you  are  now,"  again  argued  Jonathan  ; 
"  don't  you  know  you'd  be  better  off  if  you  took  the  world 
easy  ?" 

"If  it  wasn't  for  my  children;"  said  Jones,  his  features 
working  a  little.  "  To  be  sure  they've  got  the  name  of  bad 
children,  but  it's  all  her  fault.  I  know  what  drinking  leads  to, 
and  if  I  had  a  decent  wife,  I'd  never  touch  a  drop  as  long  as 
I  lived." 

Teddy's  countenance  fell.  His  conscience  was  administer- 
ing some  pretty  smart  thumps.  lie  had  a  decent  wife,  a  very 
loving  wife,  and  he  loved  her  very  much.  But  he  couldn't 
help  it ;  there  was  the  temptation,  and  he  could  do  nothing  but 
yield. 

"  But  your  children  won't  be  a  bit  the  worse,"  responded 
Jonathan.  "  Come  now,  take  a  little  comfort,  for  once  in 
your  life." 

The  poor  man  knew  that  matters  couldn't  be  much  worse 
than  they  were,  and  he  longed  to  forget  for  a  moment  that  he 
was  worse  off  than  other  men,  so  laid  aside  further  scruples, 
and  took  his  share  with  the  rest. 

"There  is  Tom  Brown,"  he  cried,  when  he  had  become  par- 
tially invigorated, "  and  Joe,  too.  Welcome  Joe,  here's  a  seat." 


KATE    WESTON.  179 

The  young  man  walked  in  with  a  swagger,  acquired  since 
we  last  saw  him,  and  Joe  came  limping\  along  like  a  lame 
Hercules,  grinning  as  broadly  as  usual. 

A  great  many  more  came  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
but  being  for  the  most  part  of  a  different  class  from  our 
companions,  the  party  was  left  quite  to  themselves  in  a  corner 
of  the  saloon. 

By  eleven  o'clock  Mr.  Jones  felt,  sure  enough,  like  "  taking 
the  world  easy,"  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  he 
"  didn't  care  a  fiddle-stick  about  what  Sally  did.  She  wan't 
nothing  but  a  baby.  He  could  manage  her  easy  enough." 

"  Och,  you  coot  you,"  cried  Teddy,  in  a  high  state  of 
drunken  felicity.  "  Now  is  it  yerself  will  dare  to  say  that 
same,  when  niver  a  sowl  of  us  but  knows  ye'll  be  afther  getting 
a  sound  beatiag." 

"  Dar,  now,"  said  Joe,  rolling  his  eyes,  "  I'd  feel  oncommon 
easy,  if  I  know'd  dat  was  all  Rosy'd  do." 

"  What  does  Rosy  do,  now  ?"  asked  young  Brown,  putting 
a  large  mug  to  his  lips ;  "  tell  us,  and  I'll  treat  you  to  a  gin- 
sling." 

"  Why,"  said  Joe,  "  she  will  oilers  act  so  curis ;  she  looks  so 
hicumbobflorius  when  I  gits  home,  dere  ain't  no  doin'  nuffin' 
wid  her.  'Pears  I  can't  make  her  look  at  me  at  all,  not  till 
next  day,  an'  den — doesn't  she  most  kill  herself  a  cryin'  and 
•  a  beggin'  on  me  not  to  go  near  dem  renimical  rumsellers  ? 
Lawk  alive,  nuffin'  she  don't  do  to  bring  me  round  to  be  de 
good  husband  agin,  she  says,  nor  nuffin'  I  don't  do  neider  to 
keep  from  de  whiskey,  but  someways  I  oilers  gits  cotched. 
Whiskey's  a  queer  ting,"  he  added,  philosophically,  rolling- 
his  eyes  and  scratching  his  head.  "  An'  rum's  a  queer  ting} 
an'  brandy,  an'  gin.  Dey's  all  berry  queer  tings.  Dis  nigger 
neber  seed  nuffin'  like  'em." 

"  Hurrah  for  Rosy  !"  cried  Jones,  who  was  getting  uproar- 
ious. "  Rosy's  the  gal.  Now  aren't  you  ashamed  o'  yourself, 
Joe,  ever  to  go  fur  to  git  tipsy  ?  I'd  jump  straight  into  the 


•180  KATE    WESTO5. 

Hudson  afore  I'd  drink  a  drop  if  I  had  such  a  wife  as  that 
'ere." 

"  Hurrah  for  Rosy !" 

"Sure  an'  you'd  niver  be  after  wanting  a  darkey  wife,' 
interrupted  Teddy,  feeling  a  little  of  the  universal  jealousy 
between  the  negro  and  the  Paddy  swell  within  him.  "  Troth, 
I  mean  no  offince  till  ye,  Joe ;  it's  yerself  is  a  raal  respictable 
nagur,  but  niver  a  white  man  marries  a  black  woman.  No 
offince  now,"  he  added,  in  a  patronizing  tone,  "  it's  jist  meself 
considhers  ye  the  natest  nagur  that  iver  I  saw  since  I  came 
out  of  owld  Ireland." 

Joe,  being  very  humble-minded,  and  not  at  all  apt  to  quar" 
rel  on  his  own  account,  merely  grinned  at  the  compliment, 
while  he  prepared  to  swallow  the  gin-sling  ordered  by  young 
Brown.  * 

"Come  now,"  exclaimed  this  last  young  gentleman,  "couldn't 
we  have  a  bit  o'  fun  to-night  ?  Kick  up  a  row,  or  something 
o'  that  sort  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  yer  what," said  Jonathan,  "it  won't  do  to  be  kick- 
ing up  rows  now-a-days ;  we'll  maybe  get  into  the  wrong  box. 
Can't  none  of  you  stan'  treat,  and  give  us  a  supper.  Some  o' 
you  housekeepers?  A  nice  cold  chicken,  or  a  piece  of  boiled 
ham  and  some  poached  eggs'd  taste  fine.  Come  now." 

"  Sally  boiled  a  tremendous  ham  to-day,"  cried  Jones,  pour- 
ing down  a  good  drink  of  gin  and  water,  "  I've  a  mind  to  take 
you  home  wi'  me,  'pon  my  word." 

Teddy  opened  mouth  and  eyes  in  astonishment,  Joe  grinned, 
Brown  nodded  his  head  delightedly,  and  Jonathan  Meeks 
laughed  outright. 

"  Oh,  clar  out  dar  !"  cried  Joe ;  "  guess  ye'd  dare  to  now." 

"  That's  first-rate ;"  said  Brown.  "  Come  along,  boys ;  that'll 
be  fun.  Show  off  your  spunk  now,  Jones.  Don't  let  her  get 
ahead  on  you." 

Jones,  who  did  not  quite  mean  what  he  said,  looked  per- 
plexed, but  he  hardly  knew  how  to  back  out. 


KATE    WESTON.  181 

"  I'll  bet  a  dollar  Eben  don't  dare  go  home,  and  order  Sally 
to  lay  supper  out  for  five,"  cried  Jonathan,  winking  at  the  rest. 

"  An'  I'll  bet  ye  two,  Eben,  if  ye  oncet  gits  in,  ye'll  run 
away  again  ;"  said  Teddy.  "  Ye'll  never  be  dharing  to  show 
the  face  of  a  man  as  long  as  ye  live." 

"  Done!"  cried  Jones.  "I'll  never  back  out  when  I  say  a 
thing.  Come  now,  who  holds  the  stakes  ?" 

"  Joe — Joe !"  cried  two  or  three  voices,  as  the  betters  laid 
the  money  on  the  table.  Joe  pocketed  it  with  a  chuckle  of  _ 
delight  at  the  anticipated  sport,  while  the  whole  party  laughed 
uproariously  as  they  swaggered  out  of  the  room. 

"  Now  then,  Jones,  you're  in  for  it,"  said  Brown,  as  they 
neared  the  house.  "  Don't  lose  your  bet,  nor  let  us  lose  our 
supper." 

"  You  just  wait  outside  till  I  go  in  and  tell  her,"  said 
Jones,  beginning,  in  spite  of  his  rum-inspired  courage,  to 
tremble  for  the  consequences  of  his  demand. 

"  Shure,  an'  it's  fair  ye'll  be  dalin'  wid  us,  Jones,"  cried 
Teddy,  staggering  rather  precipitately  against  Jonathan 
Meeks. 

"To  be  sure,  Teddy,"  cried  Jonathan,  dexterously  balanc- 
ing himself  against  his  more  intoxicated  companion,  "  neigh- 
bor Jones  don't  never  do  nothing  else,  I  reckon.  He'll  go 
in  first,  and  we'll  wait  a  bit  outside." 

Teddy  was  about  to  utter  an  exclamation  of  dissent,  but  a 
sudden  nudge,  administered  by  Jonathan,  attended  by  a  signi- 
ficant nod,  opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact  of  a  small  window, 
half  a  dozen  feet  from  the  door,  through  which  the  gentle- 
tempered  lady  herself  could  be  seen  taking  a  draught  from  a 
tin  cup  upon  the  mantel.  Jones,  being  either  too  tipsy  or 
too  heedless  to  notice  the  tell-tale  window,  stepped  softly  up, 
delighted  that  he  was  permitted  to  go  alone. 

As  he  walked  in  at  the  door,  the  men  ranged  themselves 
at  either  side  of  the  window.  "  Squat  down  here,  Joe,"  said 
Brown,  "  and  put  your  face  close  to  the  window.  She  can't 


182  KATE    WESTON. 

see  you  half  so  well  as  us,  your  skin  is  so  near  the  color  of 
the  night." 

Joe's  teeth  glittered  again.  "  Och,  murdher  alive !"  cried 
Teddy,  "  don't  be  afther  grinning,  Joe,  she'll  see  every  blissed 
ivory  in  your  head.  Faix  an'  I  couldn't  say  which  mother's 
son  iv  us'd  be  afther  walking  in  to  that  she-sarpint,"  he  added, 
as  Mrs.  Jones,  hearing  a  step  in  the  passage,  turned  herself 
fiercely  about  to  give  her  spouse  a  proper  reception.  "  Shure, 
it's  a  lucky  thing  we  stayed  outside.  Be  the  Vargin,  but  she's 
ready  to  ate  him — look  !" 

"  Hold  yer  tongue,  Toole  !"  whispered  Jonathan ;  "  she'll 
hear  you  if  you  keep  your  gab  a  running  so.  Listen  now." 

Jones,  who  had  paused  a  moment  in  the  hall,  before  enter- 
ing, at  this  juncture  opened  the  door.  He  certainly  looked 
in  her  face  as  he  had  never  dared  to  look  before,  and,  had  she 
not  been  under  a  similar  stimulus  to  himself,  might  have 
been  successful  in  his  experiment. 

As  it  was,  however,  he  was  no  match  for  her,  and  his  eyes 
were  glad  to  seek  some  other  object  than  her  fiery  ones  to 
rest  upon. 

"  Sally,"  he  commenced,  in  his  blandest  tones,  "  I  have 
brought  some  friends  to  take  a  mouthful  with  me.  Where's 
the  ham  you  boiled  to  day  ?  Just  set  it  out  with  some  bread 
and  butter,  and  I'll  get  you  a  new  ribbon  to  your  hat." 

His  wife  stood  for  a  full  minute  without  taking  her  eyes 
off  his  face,  looking  as  though  she  would  gladly  turn  into  a 
tiger  for  the  pleasure  of  munching  him.  "  Come,  my  dear,"  he 
added,  at  length. 

"  My  dear !"  she  cried,  shrilly,  "  my  dear !  Don't  you  '  my 
dear'  me,  Mr.  Eben  Jones.  Fine  doings  this,  indeed,  staying 
out  till  this  time  o'  night  an'  then  coming  home  drunk  as  a 
loon.  Ugh !  you're  nothin  on  airth  but  a  nasty,  ha-atefnl, 
good-for-nothin'  brute  beast,  an'  I'm  jist  the  worst,  miser- 
ablest,  unhappiest  wretch  that  ever  lived ;  but  I'll  show  you. 
You  needn't  to  try  comin'  any  of  vour  tricks  over  me.  You 


RATE    WESTON.  183 

know  well  enough  I  could  wollop  you  any  day,  an'  if  ye 
don't  look  out,  ye'll  get  it  now." 

"  Sally,"  said  Jones,  with  sudden  firmness,  "  I  can  tell  you 
that  I'm  the  master  in  this  house,  an'  I'll  let  you  know  it,  too, 
if  it  costs  me  my  head.  Do  you  think  I'm  agoing  to  let  you 
go  on  in  this  here  kind  of  a  fashion  all  your  life  ?  I'll  take 
things  into  my  own  hands  after  this,  I  reckon." 

"  You  will,  will  you  ?"  shrieked  the  exasperated  lady,  seiz- 
ing the  tin  and  flinging  it  full  at  her  unfortunate  husband. 
"  You  are  the  master,  are  you  ?  very  well,  just  try  it,  that's  all. 
It's  all  along  of  yer  goin'  with  them  old  rummies  ;  I  knew 
what  you  was  up  to,  you  born  liar.  If  ever  you  go  there 
again,  I'll  thrash  ye,  I'll  lay  it  on  till  ye  can't  stand,  hear  ? 
You're  so  drunk  you  can  hardly  walk.  You'd  better  git  to 
bed  afore  I  use  a  cow-hide  to  yer  back ;  'twouldn't  be  the 
first  time,  ye  know  that !" 

Jones  seized  hold  of  the  bed-post  to  steady  himself,  but 
having  made  a  drunken  resolve  to  win  his  bet,  again  con- 
fronted her,  endeavoring  to  speak  with  such  dignity  as  should 
awe  her  into  submission. 

"  From  this  time,  Sally,  I  will  have  the  sayin'  an'  the  doin' 
of  things  in  this  here  house.  Things  ain't  agoin'  on  as 
they've  been  agoin'  on.  I  tell  you,  I've  invited  some  friends 
.home  with  me  to  take  supper.  Just  step  into  that  room  and 
bring  out  the  ham." 

O 

Mrs.  Jones  stood  for  one  minute  looking  at  him  with  an 
astonished  kind  of  fury,  then  without  saying  a  word,  made 
for  a  corner  where  a  rough  hemlock  broom,  worn  almost  to 
the  stump,  stood  ready  to  her  hand.  She  seized  it  firmly  in 
both  hands,  and  rushed  so  suddenly  upon  her  authoritative 
lord,  that  before  he  had  time  to  prepare  himself,  a  broad 
stroke  from  the  good  lady's  implement  of  attack,  descended 
so  powerfully  upon  his  shoulders,  that  he  half-rushed,  half- 
staggered  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  She  did  not  stop, 
but  followed  him  closely,  laying  on  the  strokes  with  an  energy 


184  KATE    WESTOX. 

that  might  have  made  the  fortune  of  a  brigadier-general, 
whilst  he  essayed  in  vain  to  face  the  storm  of  blows,  whirling 
himself  face  about,  and  as,  often  ducking  his  head  and  expos- 
ing his  back  to  the  chastisement  of  his  wife,  as  being  more 
commodious  to  her  and  less  annoying  to  himself. 

So  they  went,  round,  and  round,  and  round,  he  avoiding 
and  she  following  him  up,  crying  triumphantly,  "That's 
it ;  that's  it ;  you're  the  master,  you  are !  Oh,  ye  dirty 
vagabond,  I'll  settle  ye !  I  don't  sit  .up  here  till  twelve  o'clock 
for  nuthin';  ye  got  it  easy  this  time,  next  time  I'll  skin  ye 
alive!  /wvited  friends,  eh!  let  'em  come;  I'll  give  'em  a 
supper  they  didn't  bargain  for.  Get  out  the  ham,  eh !  Til 
flounce  'em  with  it,  if  I  do';  let  'em  show  their  faces,  that's  all  1" 

There  must  be  an  end  to  everything,  so  at  last  an  end  came 
to  the  patience  of  the  poor  belabored  Jones ;  to  her  agility 
and  energy,  however,  the  end  was  much  slower  in  coming. 
By  the  time  she  had  just  entered  fairly  into  the  spirit  of  the 
sport,  he  was  ready  to  take  refuge  in  flight,  and  as  he  preferred 
keeping  the  peculiar  state  of  affairs  from  the  knowledge  of 
his  out  door  companions,  and  had  no  other  convenient  hid- 
ing-place, he  dropped  precipitately  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  made  the  best  of  his  way  under  the  bed,  ensconcing  him- 
self behind  the  dubious  colored  valance.  As  he  disappeared, 
however,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Joe's  teeth  shining  at  the 
window.  Here  was  a  fix  now.  They  had  seen  it  all,  and  he 
had  no  other  resource  but  to  become  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  whole  party. 

Mrs.  Jones,  judging  truly  enough  that  his  concealed  posi- 
tion gave  him  an  unfair  advantage  over  the  enemy,  declined 
following  to  his  hiding-place,  but  stood  broom  in  hand,  ready 
to  renew  the  attack  whenever  opportunity  should 'offer.  The 
gentleman  under  the  bed  considered,  and  very  wisely  con- 
cluded to  make  the  best  of  a  bad. matter  .by  winning  his  bet 
and  joining  in  the  joke,  so  lifting  the  valance  just  at  the  head 
of  the  bed,  he  called  out  with  a  nod  towards  the  window, 


KATE    WESTOX.  185 

"  Sally,  I'll  show  the  face  of  a  man  as  long  as  I  live."  She 
rushed  at  him  with  the  broomstick,  but  he  made  good  his 
retreat,  and  half  a  minute  after  his  red  face  bobbed  out  at  the 
foot,  "  Sally,  do  ye  see !  I'll  show  ye  the  face  of  a  man  as 
locg  as  I  live." 

"  Be  jabers,"  muttered  Teddy  at  the  window,  "  but  I've  lost 
my  bet,  after  all.  Och,  he's  a  cunning  gander,  and  I'll  say 
that  same." 

"  Law  sakes  !"  whispered  Joe,  "  stuffing  his  huge  fist  into  his 
huger  mouth  to  keep  back  the  great  guffaw  that  he  felt  burst- 
ing within  him,  "  law  sakes,  she's  a  '  Rorer  Boralis  !'  she'd  take 
de  pompositest  citarel  in  dese  here  United  States  ob  America. 
Nebber  seed  nuffin'  like  her." 

"  If  ye  don't  mind  a  beating,  Joe,  just  laugh,"  said  Brown, 
fearful  of  his  giving  way  to  his  suppressed  merriment. 

"  Howld  yer  tongues,  ivery  one  iv  yiz,"  whispered  Teddy, 
"  say  what  she'll  do  now." 

But  she  did  not  seem  inclined  to  take  any  more  active 
measures  than  standing  still,  and  watching  the  dirty  valance, 
precisely  as  a  cat  would  watch  a  hole  through  which  some 
unhappy  mouse  was  about  to  make  its  appearance.  Jones 
managed  to  evade  her  skill,  and  by  the  sudden  shifting  of  his 
position  in  his  singular  quarters,  to  put  her  entirely  at  fault. 
Now  he  would  peep  at  her  from  the  wall  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  then  lift  the  covering  from  the  opposite  corner,  then  bob 
suddenly  out  in  the  middle,  reiterating  at  every  fresh  appear- 
ance with  increasing  vehemence,  "  I'll  do  it,  Sally.  I'll  show 
ye  the  face  of  a  man  as  long  as  I  live,"  but  dexterously  diving 
back  ajjain  whenever  the  hemlock  branches  came  in  too  close 

O 

proximity  to  his  nose. 

Joe  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  "  Ha — ha — ha  ! 
he — he — he !  hi — hi — hi !"  burst  on  the  ears  of  the  startled 
sovereign  of  her  dominions.  She  wheeled  suddenly  about, 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  Joe's  white  teeth  and  rolling  eyes. 
For  a  moment  she  seemed  bewildered,  then,  reassuring  herself, 


186  KATE    WESTON. 

she  rushed  to  the.  door,  and  out  into  the  hall.  The  men,  not 
caring  either  to  fight  a  woman,  or  be  beaten  by  a  woman, 
made  good  their  retreat,  Jonathan  Meeks  shouting  behind 
him  as  he  staggered  away,  "  Never  mind  Sally ;  Eben's  won 
the  bet  in  spite  of  you.  Hurrah  for  Eben  Jones,  Sally ! 
He'll  show  you  the  face  of  a  man  as  long  as  he  lives !" 


KATE    AVESTON.  187 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  WELL,  and  how's  Johnny  to-day  ?"  said  young  Clarence, 
stepping  up  to  the  little  bed  where  lay  Kitty  Toole's  youngest 
child,  moaning  with  the  pains  of  a  malignant  fever. 

"  Shure,  sir,  an'  he  niver  slep  a  wink  the  whole  blissed 
night,"  answered  the  anxious  mother.  "  The  poor  thing !  his 
head's  like  fire,  an'  he  isn't  willing  to  keep  the  cowld  wather 
upon  it  at  all,  at  all.  He  jist  got  into  a  little  doze  las  night 
when  Teddy  came  a  bursting  in,  and  wakened  him  right  out 
iv  his  slape;  he  jist  lifted  him  right  up,  an'  begun  a  dancin' 
him  about  the  room,  an'  whin  I  sez  to  him,  sez  I,  '  Teddy,  now 
you'll  be  afther  killin'  the  child  intirely,'  he  laughed  at  me,  an' 
histed  him  up  on  his  shoulder.  He  didn't  pay  no  heed  to  the 
swate  little  darlint  cryin' ;  and  whin  he  laid  him  down,  shure 
I  had  to  put  the  cowld  wather  to  his  head,  an'  the  drafths  to 
his  feet." 

"  Poor  little  fellow !"  said  the  young  man,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  small,  hot  forehead.  "  However,  Kitty,  I  think  his 
skin  is  a  little  moist,  and  that  is  an  excellent  sign.  Yes,  the 
palms  of  his  hands  are  quite  damp.  If  you  are  careful,  he'll 
be  well  in  a  few  days." 

"  Bliss  you  for  sayin'  it,  sir,"  answered  the  poor  woman, 
re-arranging  the  coverlet  over  the  child.  "  I  was  afeard  I'd 
lose  him." 

"  No,  he  is  past  the  crisis  now,  I  think ;  only  keep  him 
quiet.  But  I'm  going  down  to  New  York  to-day.  Have  you 
any  message  for  Biddy  ?  I  shall  call  at  Mr.  Dunn's." 

"Jist  plaze  to  give  her  our  love.     Shure,  it'll  be  better 


188  .  KATE    WESTOX. 

niver  to  inform  her  of  Johnny's  bein'  sick  at  all ;  it'll  jist  vex 
her  intirely,  without  doin'  a  ha'porth  o'  good.  I'd  be  glad," 
she  added,  in  a  tremulous  tone,  "  she'd  ~  niver  find  out  about 
Teddy  *  but  she's  got  a  howlt  iv  it  aready,  an'  tan't  no  use  to 
hide  it.  Sometimes  my  very  heart  seems  swelling  as  though 
it  would  brake  intirely ;  but  if  I  iver  give  up,  then  what's  to 
come  o'  my  weeny  ones  ?  Ye  must  plaze  til  excuse  me,  sir, 
but  ye  know  yerself  how  things  is  agoin,  and  indade  I  can't 
help  it,  at  all,  at  all."  Here  two  or  three  little  sobs  rolled  out. 

"  Poor  woman,'  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  the  young 
physician.  "  Don't  you  think  Biddy  might  have  some  influ- 
ence over  him  ?  Let  her  come  out  and  try." 

"  Och,  sorra's  the  thing  we  haven't  all  of  us  done  long  ago, 
whin  he  was  so  afore.  When  he  used  to  be  a  tryin'  an'  a 
tryin'  hisself  to  kape  away  from  the  craythur,  we  did  ivery- 
thing  on  airth  to  help  him  along ;  but  shure,  an'  niver  nothing 
did  a  bit  o'  good  till  we  come  out  here  where  he  couldn't  git 
howlt  of  it.  Now,  I'm  thinking  we'll  go  to  ruin  jist  as  fast 
as  iver  we  can  go.  Faith,  there's  niver  another  rifuge  to  llee 
to  now,  an'  niver  " 

She  stopped,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Never  mind,  Kitty,"  said  Edward  ;  "  cheer  up,  and  hope 
for  better  days ;  they'll  come  after  a  while,  if  you  have  pa- 
tience." 

Hope  and  Patience !  Young  and  inexperienced  comforter ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  Hope  smiling  upon  a  drunkard's  hearth- 
stone? Yes,  Patience  is  the  sovereign  there.-  She  gazes  in 
silent  anguish  upon  the  heart-treasures  melting  from  her  view, 
•while  Hope  sits  vailed  for  ever  at  her  side. 

When  Edward  arrived  in  the  city,  he  bent  his  way  towards 
Judge  Ainslie's,  intending  to  take  a  peep  at  Kate,  before  visit- 
ing the  Medical  College.  As  Mr.  Dunn's  was  directly  in  his 
way,  he  resolved  to  call  at  once,  for  fear  that  some  other 
engagement  might  detain  him  for  the  evening.  He  was 
ushered  into  the  great  parlor,  where  he  found  Mr.  Dunn, 


KATE    WESTON.  189 

wrapped  in  his  overcoat,  gathering  a  bundle  of  papers  pre- 
paratory to  going  out  on  business.  The  house  seemed  lonely, 
even  dreary,  and  a  pale,  haggard  look  about  the  proprietor 
told  his  young  visitor  that  no  wealth  or  splendor  could  keep 
his  heart  from  breaking  slowly  in  its  loneliness. 

A  studious  avoidance  of  anything  having  reference  to  his 
child  was  observed  by  both.  Mr.  Dunn  smiled  faintly  as  he 
welcomed  Edward. 

"  So  you  will  be  fairly  fledged  in  a  few  weeks,  eh  ?  Dr. 
Clarence !  Well,  you  have  my  best  wishes,  Edward.  I  have 
no  fears  but  you'll  succeed." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Dunn ;  I  heard  that  you  were  also  about 
to  take  an  important  step  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I'm  going  to  give  up  business.  It's  getting 
to  be  a  confounded  bore.  I  think  I  shall  take  a  jaunt  to 
Europe  early  in  the  spring.  I  have  been  talking  of  it  a  good 
many  years." 

"  Will  you  sell  out  in  toto,  or  reserve  a  silent  partnership  in 
the  concern?" 

"  Sell  all  out,  and  directly.  I  don't  care  much  what  I  get 
for  it.  There's  some  ten  thousand  dollars  worth  of  stock  on 
hand,  and  the  good-will  of  the  business  is  worth  at  least 
ten  thousand  more,  and  I'll  let  it  all  go  for  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"Eeally,  sir,"  said  Edward,  laughing,  "if  you  had  the 
slightest  prospect  of  selling  out  to  me,  I  should  certainly  think 
you  something  of  a  Jew.  What  can  prompt  you  to  lose  so 
largely  in  a  concern  where  you  might  as  well  avoid  such 
loss?" 

"  The  fact  is,"  answered  Mr.  Dunn,  with  a  weary  look,  "  I'm 
deucedly  tired  of  the  business,  and  really  feel  just  now  as 
though  I'd  give  it  away  rather  than  be  bothered  any  longer." 

"  Shall  you  give  up  your  house  too  ?"  asked  Edward. 

"  I  think  not.  The  probability  is  that  I  shall  return  in  the 
fall,  and  I  wouldn't  want  to  be  cast  adrift.  Are  you  going 


190  KATE    WESTON. 

to  do  me  the  favor  of  spending  two  or  three  days  with 
me?" 

"  It  would  .be  inconvenient  for  me,  I  thank  you,"  said 
Edward.  "  I  shall  have  to  be  as  near  the  college  as  possible. 
I  thought  I  would  run  in  and  see  you  before  I  went  up  town. 
I  have  a  little  message,  too,  for  your  laundress.  I  should  like 
to  see  her,  if  you  please." 

"  Bridget,  you  mean,"  answered  Mr.  Dunn.  "  She  is  not 
here.  She  left  last  week  for  some  reason  or  other ;  I  don't 
know  what." 

"  Do  you  know  Avhere  she  is,  sir  ?"  asked  Edward.  "  That 
unfortunate  brother  of  hers  has  taken  to  dissolute  habits 
again.  He  was  an  excellent  workman,  and  a  better  husband 
and  father  I  never  saw ;  but  he  has  lately  been  so  constantly 
intoxicated  that  father  was  obliged  to  dismiss  him  from  his 
employ,  and  his  family  have  begun  to  suffer  quite  seriously. 
You  surely  must  remember  his  coming  out  with  Biddy  a  year 
or  two  ago,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  danger." 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  listener,  "  I  remember  something  about 
it,  although  I  seldom  pay  much  attention  to  the  doings  of  my 
servants.  Ann  knows  where  she  has  gone,  I  will  ascertain 
for  you." 

After  obtaining  the  street  and  number  of  Biddy's  tempo- 
rary abode,  and  exchanging  a  little  more  common-place  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Dunn,  he  proceeded  to  pay  his  respects  in 
a  more  agreeable  quarter. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Clarence!"  cried  Alice,  throwing 
down  her  duster  as  he  entered  the  parlor,  and  putting  out  her 
hand,  "  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  You're  just  in  time.  Kate 
and  I  were  about  going  forlorn  and  lone  down  into  Nassau 
street.  Now  we'll  press  you  into  our  service." 

"  Quite  happy  I  can  assure  you,  to  be  pressed  into  such  a 
service,"  said  Edward,  smiling.  "  You  are  all  well,  I  hope." 

"  All  quite  well,"  answered  the  young  lady,  "  except  poor 
Clarence,  and  he's  tolerable  to-day.  I'll  run  up  and  call  Kate. 


KATE    WESTON.  191 

Mary's  so  dumb,  she'd  hardly  know  what  to  say.  Au 
revoir"  The  lively  girl  danced  out  of  the  room,  and  rlew  up 
stairs  to  Kate.  • 

"  Here,  lady  fair,"  she  exclaimed,  flinging  her  arm  about 
her  waist,  and  whirling  her  suddenly  away  from  the  glass, 
"just  be  satisfied  with  that  graceful  neglige,  and  don't 
smoothe  your  hair  any  more.  That  morning  dress  makes 
you  look  like  a  Venus  in  disguise.  Who  do  you  think  is 
dov/n  stairs?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Kate,  a  beautiful  blush  betraying  that 
she  could  guess  pretty  truly  if  she  didn't  know.  "How 
should  I  know  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  well  enough.  Cheriy  lips  say  no,  and 
cherry  cheeks  say  yes.  Don't  look  so  transcendently  beauti- 
ful, or  I  shall  die  of  jealousy.  Just  to.  think  of  my  being 
there  dusting  the  room  in  that  horrible  calico  wrapper  and 
curl-papers.  I  declare  I'm  mortified  to  think  of  it." 

As  she  laughed  very  heartily  at  the  mortification,  her  com- 
panion did  not  share  in  it,  but  hinted  that  perhaps  some 
young  gentleman  she  could  mention  might  consider  morning- 
wrappers  and  curl-papers  vastly  becoming.  Alice,  however, 
persisted  in  declaring  herself  a  perfect  fright,  and  drove  Kate 
precipitately  down  to  make  apologies  to  Edward,  while  she 
underwent  the  important  operation  of  dressing,  although  pro- 
fessing at  the  same  time  a  total  want  of  faith  in  her  ability 
to  render  herself,  even  with  all  her  skill,  at  all  comparable  to 
Kate,  a  fact  true  enough  in  itself,  but  one  which  very  few 
young  ladies  in  similar  circumstances  are  ready  to  acknow- 
ledge or  believe. 

Kate  hadn't  a  particle  of  the  coquette  about  her,  and  the 
moment  Edward's  eyes  met  hers,  he  saw  that  all  she  had  told 
him  at  parting  was  true.  There  was  something  so  loving,  trust- 
ing, and  joyous,  beaming  upon  him  from  their  dreamy  depths, 
as  though  her  true  heart  lay  there  open  to  his  view,  that  he 
put  his  arm  about  her,  and  kissed  her  precisely  as  though 


192  KATE    WESTOX. 

she  had  not  been  for  three  months  one  of  the  loveliest  belles 
of  the  season,  seeming  and  being,  in  the  heart  of  a  fashion- 
fettered  world,  the  same  winning,  unspoilable  little  blossom 
that  Nature  made  her. 

"  Well,  Katie,"  he  said,  when  he  had  satisfied  her  that 
everything  was  going  on  in  Laconia  as  respectably  as  could 
be  expected  considering  her  absence,  "  well  Katie,  I'm  going 
to  stay  with  you  a  few  weeks  now.  As  soon  as  this  course  of 
lectures  is  over,  I  shall  be  Edward  Pufton  Clarence,  M.  D. 
I  think  I  shan't  study  law." 

Kate  laughed.  "  Oh  no,  one  profession  is  enough,  I  think, 
I  wouldn't  have  you  bother  your  brain  over  another  for  any- 
thing. That  was  a  boyish  freak,  sure  enough.  You'll  have 
a  chance  at  politics,  yet."  A  mischievous  gleam  shot  from 
her  eyes,  and  Edward  understood  it  well  enough. 

"  So  you  think  I've  a  fancy  that  way,  do  you  ?"  he  said, 
half-laughing.  "  The  only  politics  in  which  I  shall  meddle 
have  reference  to  a  certain  little  charmer  I  know  of,  and  aim 
at  some  day  " — 

"There  now,  Edward,"  she  interposed,  laying  her  hand 
over  his  mouth,  "  there's  no  necessity  for  exposing  your  boy- 
ish plans.  Just  wait  till  you  are  ready  to  execute  before  you 
communicate  them  so  freely.  Do  you  know  I'm  so  glad  you 
are  going  to  be  away  from  that  desperate-looking  Dr.  Hig- 
gins.  I  never  could  bear  the  sight  of  him." 

"  And  that's  a  great  deal  for  you  to  say,  Katie.  But  he  is 
very  anxious  that  I  should  enter  into  partnership  with 
him." 

"  But  you'll  never  do  it  ?"  said  Kate  earnestly.  u  Oh  dear, 
I'm  sure  he's  not  a  good  man." 

"  Don't  look  so  alarmed,"  he  answered,  "  I  wouldn't  do  it 
if  he  gave  me  nine-tenths  of  the  profits,  and  did  all  the  work 
himself.  I'm  certain  you  can't  have  a  greater  repugnance  to 
the  man  than  myself.  I  never  liked  him ;  there  is  something 


KATE    WESTON.  193 

about  him  that  I  cannot  understand.  Sometimes  when  I'm 
talking  to  him,  a  chill  creeps  over  me,  exactly  like  the  shudder 
you  would  feel  when  you  looked  down  into  a  dark  pit,  with- 
out knowing  what  untold  horrors  might  be  there,  and  I'd  just 
as  soon  leap  into  a  fathomless  quagmire  as  put  myself  in  his 
power.  I'm  heartily  glad  I'm  away  from  him  for  good  and 
all,  though  I  don't  expect  he  feels  very  friendly  towards  me 
for  rejecting  the  honor  he  has  proffered  me." 

"  He's  afraid  you'll  take  away  all  his  practice,"  said  Kate, 
looking  relieved.  "  He's  very  unpopular." 

"  To  be  sure  he  is,"  answered  Edward,  "  but  that's  his  own 
fault.  Poor  fellow,  I'm  sorry  for  him,  too,  he  is  so  afflicted 
with  that  obstinate  chill  and  fever.  I  think  he  might  be 
cured  of  it,  if  he  were  not  obliged  to  go  out  nights  to  visit 
his  patients,  and  I  don't  know  either,  but  the  disease  is  of 
such  long  standing  as  to  be  incurable." 

"  Well,  never  mind  about  him  now,"  said  Kate.  "  Alice 
and  I  were  just  going  out  in  search  of  a  cook  for  Mrs. 
Ainslie,  and  you  will  be  a  welcome  acquisition  to  our 
society.  Can  you  accompany  us  down  to  Nassau  street 
Intelligence  Office »" 

"I  am  at  your  service  entirely  for  a  day  or  two,"  he 
answered.  "  The  course  of  lectures  doesn't  commence  until 
day  after  to-mojrow.  But,  Kate,  I  think  we  may  find  a  ser- 
vant without  going  there.  I  happen  to  have  heard  of  one 
out  of  a  situation  this  very  morning.  You'll  remember  her 
too.  You  remember  the  sister  of  Toole,  who  was  laundress 
in  Mr.  Dunn's  family,  two  years  ago,  when  the  family  came 
out  to  spend  the  summer.  I  find  that  she  has  left  Mr. 
Dunn's  lately,  of  her  own  accord,  without  assigning  any 
reason.  She  must  be  a  good  servant,  or  she  wouldn't  have 
been  so  long  in  his  employ.  I  must  call  on  her,  at  any  rate, 
for  poor  Kitty  would  be  mightily  disappointed  if  I  didn't. 
Shall  we  go  and  see  her  first  ?" 

9 


194  KATE    WESTON. 

• 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Kate.  "  You  can  never  be  sure  of  a 
good  girl  from  an  office.  Well,  I'll  go  and  complete  my 
toilet  as  soon  as  possible,  if  you  have  no  objection,  and  we'll 
run  on  as  soon  as  possible." 

Edward  had  no  further  objection  to  offer  than  a  second  kiss, 
which  he  thought  it  advisable  to  take  in  case  he  should  have 
no  other  opportunity  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time.  Kate 
laughed  and  blushed,  but  offered  no  resistance,  and  hurried 
away  to  dress. 

As  the  trio  advanced  towards  the  place  designated  by  Ann 
as  the  residence  of  her  quondam  associate,  Edward  began  to 
think  that  things  looked  familiar.  The  green  door  with  its 
dingy  brass  knocker,  and  the  dirty  curtains  at  the  front  win- 
dow, reminded  him  of  the  house  where  he  had  taken  Maggie  a 
few  months  before,  and  when  he  cast  his  eye  upon  the  piece 
of  painted  tin  over  the  door,  with  the  words,  "  Boarding  and 
Lodging  "  inscribed  thereon,  he  knew  that  it  was  Sally  Clark's 
domicil  that  they  were  about  to  enter.  They  knocked  seve- 
ral times,  but  no  one  appeared  to  answer  the  call.  The  house 
could  not  be  empty,  for  the  sound  of  feet  rushing  up  stairs 
was  distinctly  audible. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  open  the  door  at  once,  and 
take  the  citadel  by  storm,"  said  Alice,  looking  up  at  a  win- 
dow where  a  quantity  of  bed-clothes  were  airing.  "There 
must  be  people  enough  there,  but  its  my  private  opinion, 
they  are  all  deaf  and  dumb,  for  I'm  certain  we  make  racket 
enough  to  bring  them  down,  if  they  had  any  mercy  on  their 
own  ears." 

"Well,"  said  Edward,  hesitating.  "My  only  objection  was 
in  having  you  with  me.  Will  you  wait  outside  while  I  run 
up  and  see,  or  would  you  prefer  " — : 

"  Oh,  we  are  not  afraid  to  follow  you,"  said  Kate,  looking 
inquisitively  at  Alice. 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Alice ;  "  don't,  for  mercy's  sake,  leave 
us  behind.  I  always  enjoy  going  into  a  strange  place, 


KATE    WESTON.  195 

especially  when  we  have  to  make  our  way  in  spite  of  such 
terrific  drawbacks  as  the  present. 

Edward  tried  the  door.  It  was  unlocked,  and  they  entered 
the  hall. 

Nobody  was  to  be  seen,  but  a  great  commotion  seemed  to 
be  going  on  up  stairs,  from  the  tread  of  feet  upon  the  floor, 
and  the  confusion  of  voices  in  several  varieties  of  tone. 
Every  one  seemed  too  busy  to  pay  any  attention  to  them, 
so  they  walked  on  up  stairs.  The  sounds  all  proceeded  from 
a  room  apparently  in  the  third  story,  for  on  reaching  the 
second  floor,  they  seemed  little  nearer  than  before.  So  up 
they  went,  determined  to  find  out  what  could  be  going  on, 
until,  at  the  head  of  the  last  flight  of  stairs,  they  came  upon 
a  room  with  the  door  open,  within  which  half  a  dozen  women 
were  bustling  a'bout  in  all  directions,  kindling  a  fire,  carrying 
blankets  and  hot  water,  too  busy  and  too  much  excited  to 
pay  any  attention  to  the  knocking  below. 

They  were  noticed  now,  however,  by  Bridget  herself,  who 
came  forward  to  the  door,  saying  in  a  husky  voice,  "  Sure, 
an'  it's  a  sorry  sight  ye'll  see  here,  sir;  a  wee  innocent 
jist  clane  gone  intirely.  Och,  but  it's  a  shame  for  such 
doings'  to  be  a'going  on  in  this  blissed  Ameriky.  Will  ye 
be  afther  coming  in  to  say,  my  swate  young  ladies  ?"  she 
added,  pointing  to  the  rough  bed,  surrounded  by  women  who 
were  actively  engaged  with  something  upon  it  concealed 
from  view. 

They  advanced  into  the  room.  One  of  the  women  at  the 
bed  made  way  for  them,  and  there,  at  the  foot,  upon  a  pillow, 
a  blue-eyed  infant  lay  like  a  crushed  flower,  pale  and  chill  in 
death.  Alice  started  back  with  a  half-cry,  and  Kate  burst 
into  tears.  They  glanced  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  were 
still  more  deeply  moved  to  see  another  face,  smaller  and 
rounder,  half-buried  in  the  clothes. 

"  It  wavn't  o'  no  sort  o'  xise,"  said  one  of  the  women,  wip- 
ing her  eyes,  "  we  tried  mighty  hard  to  bring  to  that  'ere 


196  KATE    WESTON. 

little  cretur,  but  the  life  warn't  in  her ;  so  we  had  to  give  it 
up.  The  baby's  been  gaping  a  little,  I  guess  we'll  get  her 
round  after  a  while." 

"  Were  they  drowned  ?"  asked  Edward,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  little  white  forehead. 

"  Sure,  yer  riverence,  an'  they  were  starved,  jist  starved 
intirely  wid  the  cold,"  said  another  of  the  group. 

"  But  it's  yerself  is  a  docthor,  sir,  I'm  afther  remimbering," 
interposed  Biddy.  "  Faix,  an'  ye  might  do  something  yet." 

Edward  shook  his  head,  as  he  lifted  the  small  hand  and 
clasped  the  wrist.  "  It  is  too  late ;  poor  little  things  !"  The 
tears  started  in  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  choked.  He  touched 
the  smaller  wrist  that  lay  upon  the  pillow  at  the  head ;  the 
pulse  was  beating,  but  he  could  hear  no  breath. 

"  There  is  hope  here,"  he  murmured,  looking  intently  into 
the  half-closed  eyes.  "But  we  must  have  some  ammonia 
immediately.  Let  me  see,  I'll  go  myself.  There  is  something 
else  needed  too.  Bridget,  is  there  a  drug  store  near  ?" 

"  On  the  corner,  sir ;"  said  Sally  Clark.  "  Shan't  I  go  for 
you  ?" 

"  No,  I  think  I'll  go  myself.  Just  lift  it  up,  and  keep  rub- 
bing the  hands  and  feet.  There,  so  ;  perhaps  you  had  better 
hold  her  in  your  arms." 

"  Oh,  let  me  take  her,"  cried  Kate,  seating  herself  beside 
the  bed.  "  Dear  little  creature  !" 

They  lifted  the  baby,  and  laid  it  on  her  lap,  while  her  tears 
rained  down  over  the  little  death-like  face. 

"  Sure,  sir,"  said  Bridget,  huskily,  "  it  was  all  along  of  the 
craythur  again.  The  mother  went  away  and  got  drunk, 
and  the  poor  childher  just  went  off  wid  the  cowld  from  the 
winder  there,  and  nobody  niver  was  the  wiser." 

Edward  walked  quickly  to  the  drug  store,  obtained  what 
he  desired,  and  turned  to  leave  the  place.  As  he  hurried 
down  the  steps,  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  Mr.  Pufton,  with  a  face,  as  usual,  twinkling  all 


KATE    WESTON.  197 

over  with  delight  and  welcome.  But  he  was  in  no  humor  for 
smiles.  His  hand  trembled  and  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  on  earth's  the  matter,  my  boy  ?"  said  Mr.  Pufton. 
"  Look  under  weather  mightily.  Can't  you  " — 

"Come  with  me,"  interrupted  Edward  nervously,  at  the 
same  time  walking  on.  "  I  can't  lose  a  moment,  or  it  may  be 
too  late.  Come,  and  I'll  show  you." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  cried  Mr  Pufton,  trotting  along 
beside  him. 

"  Why,  I  had  occasion  to  call  on  a  poor  woman  here  in 
• St.,  and  there  I  found  her  trying  to  restore  two  chil- 
dren who  were  frozen  last  night.  The  oldest  is  dead,  but  the 
other  I  hope  to  save." 

"  Horrible  !"  exclaimed  his  listener.     "  How  was  it  ?" 

"  The  mother  drank  to  intoxication,  and  left  them  all  night 
without  a  fire,  and  with  the  window  wide  open ;  this  morning 
the  people  in  the  house  found  them  lying  there  frozen,  one  of 
them,  at  least,  to  death.  Two  sweet  little  creatures.  I  left 
Kate  Weston  and  Miss  Ainslie  with  them  tiH  I  should  return." 

"  Poor  little  souls  !"  cried  Mr.  Pufton.  "  What  a  wretch 
that  mother  must  be  2" 

"  I  didn't  ascertain  any  further  particulars,"  said  Edward. 
"  The  first  thing  is  to  bring  the  child  to  consciousness.  Hera 
we  are ;  will  you  step  up  with  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  boy ;  lead  the  way." 

Edward  passed  up,  followed  by  Mr.  Pufton,  to  the  room 
where  the  children  lay.  Another  little  girl  was  there,  five  or 
six  years  of  age,  looking  quite  sad  and  frightened. 

"  Please  sir,  will  the  baby  die  too  ?"  she  cried,  bursting  into 
tears,  as  they  passed  her. 

"  No,  no,  I  hope  not,  child,"  said  Edward,  pouring  a  few 
drops  of  wine  into  the  mouth  of  the  unconscious  child. 
"  Mr.  Pufton,  will  you  please  take  her,  I'm  afraid  it's  too  much 
for  Kate." 

"  Oh  no — no  !"  interposed  the  young  girl ;  "  let  me  hold 


198  KATE    WESTOX. 

her;  she  has  opened  her  eyes  once.     I'll  hold  her  till  she 
revives." 

Mr.  Pufton  went  to  the  bed,  and  looked  at  the  dead  child.  It 
could  not  have  been  over  three  years  of  age.  The  face  was 
quiet  and  peaceful,  one  little  hand  lay  up  against  the  dimpled 
cheek,  the  bright  hair  fell  back  from  the  forehead,  the  eye- 
lids drooped  half-way  over  the  blue  eyes. 

The  little  dumpling  gentleman  stood  there  for  several  min- 
utes, gazing  down  upon  the  bed,  and  murmuring  to  himself, 
as  though  nobody  had  been  by.  "  Ton  my  word,  right  down 
murder !"  he  jerked  out,  bobbing  his  head  hard  three  or  four 
times,  and  brushing  half  a  dozen  tears  off  his  fat  red  cheek. 
"  If  they  want  to  kill  people,  do  let  them  kill  grown  folks  that 
can  take  their  own  part.  Sweet  little  cherub.  Thought  it 
was  cold,  eh  ?  Father  dead — mother  drunk — no  fire — starv- 
ing like  enough.  Bless  me,  what's  this  world  coming  to  ?" 
He  gave  a  nervous  stamp,  with  his  foot  upon  the  floor,  and 
whirled  about  to  see  how  they  succeeded  with  the  baby. 

"  There,  she's  coming  to  now,"  said  Sally  Clark.  "  Here, 
Lucy."  The  other  child  came  up  and  spoke  to  the  infant. 

"Millie,  Millie,  it's  sister,  dearie — look  here,  look  here." 
The  little  creature  looked  up  in  her  face,  and  smiled  faintly. 

"There,  she's  over  now,"  said  Edward,  looking  relieved. 
"  Koll  her  up  in  the  blanket,  and  carry  her  about  a  little,  and 
she'll  soon  be  lively  as  ever.  My  little  girl,  were  you  here 
last  night." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  child.  Mother  went  away  about 
five  o'clock,  and  locked  the  door,  so  we  couldn't  get  out. 
There  was  no  coal  left,  and  I  forgot  to  ask  her  to  shut  the 
window  before  she  went,  and  it  was  so  cold." 

"  Why  didn't  you  call  to  somebody  to  come  in  to  you,' 
asked  Edward. 

"  Mother  told  us  that  we  must  keep  still  till  she  came  back 
and  brought  us  some  supper,"  answered  the  child.  "  I  kept 
thinking  she'd  come  every  minute." 


KATE    WESTON.  199 

"  Didn't  your  little  brother  cry  ?"  asked  Edward. 

"First  he  did,  and  the  baby  too,  dreadfully.  I  knew  it 
was  because  they  were  cold,  and  I  got  up  on  the  chair  and 
tried  to  shut  the  window  myself.  But  I  couldn't,  so  when 
Charles  and  Millie  got  sleepy,  I  had  to  let  them  get  up 
on  the  cot  close  by  the  window.  I  got  my  old  shawl  and 
mother's  cloak  and  covered  them  over  as  well  as  I  could, 
but  they  kept  shivering  and  shivering  until  they  got  to 
sleep." 

"  Didn't  you  go  to  sleep  at  all  then  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  Not  till  most  morning,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  was  so  cold  and 
afraid  I  couldn't,  but  at  last  I  couldn't  keep  awake  any  longer, 
so  I  laid  down  too." 

"  And  when  did  you  wake  up  ?"  asked  Alice. 

"  Not  till  I  heard  somebody  knocking  awfully  at  the  door. 
Then  it  was  very  light;  I  jumped  up  and  called  to  them, 
and  they  asked  me  where  mother  was.  I  told  them  all  about 
it,  and  they  went  away  for  a  little  " 

"  Were  the  children  asleep  too  ?"  interrupted  Kate. 

"  I  went  to  the  bed  and  looked  at  them.  They  didn't  stir 
at  all  when  I  called  them  and  shook  them.  I  put  my  hand 
on  their  faces,  and  they  were  so  cold.  I  was  frightened  then. 
They  burst  open  the  door,  and — Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
dear  little  Charlie's  dead !"  Here  the  little  girl  put  her 
hands  to  her  face,  and  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  crying. 

"Poor  little  soul!  weren't  you  cold  yourself?"  asked* Mr. 
Pufton,  opening  and  shutting  his  eyes  very  hard,  to  keep  from 
crying. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  I  had  hard  work  to  get  up  at  first,  but  I  didn't 
think  about  it  any  more  when  I  felt  how  cold  they  were.  Oh, 
dear,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Confound  it !"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  "  that  woman  ought  to 
be  hanged,  she  ought."  Another  bob  of  the  head.  "  Blessed 
little  souls — they  look  innocent  enough — what's  her  name  ?" 
This  question  was  asked  in  a  tone  of  impatience  and  disgust, 


200  KATE    WESTON. 

as  though  it  was  sorely  against  his  will  to  defile  his  lips  by 
speaking  of  her  at  all. 

"Ryker,  sir,"  said  Sally  Clark.  "Her  husband  died  of 

delirium  tremens,  three  months  ago,  Rick  Ryker.  He  " 

She  did  not  proceed  further,  for  her  questioner,  who  had 
seated  himself  by  the  baby,  suddenly  started  from  his  chair, 
thrust  ^iis  hands  violently  into  his  pockets,  bobbed  his 
head  about  in  all  conceivable  directions,  and  went  trotting 
up  and  down  the  room  at  a  rate  that  utterly  astonished  the 
simple-minded  women  who  were  looking  on. 

After  taking  a  full  dozen  turns  up  and  down  the  room, 
he  came  to  a  dead  halt  in  front  of  Edward,  looking  very  red 
and  fiery. 

"  You  remember  Ryker,  sir  ?"  he  commenced,  in  a  quick, 
excited  manner,  "  Ryker  was  my  porter,  sir, — Ryker  was  as 
good  a  soul  as  ever  lived,  sir.  With  me  three  years,  was 
Ryker.  Nice  honest  fellow  then,  sir.  Good  wife  enough 
then  too.  Took  to  drinking,  sir — did  all  I  could  to  stop 
him,  couldn't  make  any  headway — would  keep  at  it,  sir — 
drove  his  wife  to  despair — heard  she  was  bad  as  he — saw 
him  taken  at  my  store — never  liked  to  turn  him  off — such 
a  noble-hearted  chap — poor  wife,  too,  confound  it !  sir,  some- 
body ought  to  be  hanged." 

The  little  gentleman  didn't  want  to  cry  now.  He  was 
laboring  under  too  much  vexation  for  that ;  he  looked  at  the 
pretty  little  face  upon  the  pillow,  'and  trotted  off  harder  than 
ever.  Between  the  heat  of  the  room,  the  excitement  of  his 
feelings,  and  his  violent  exercise,  the  perspiration  broke  out 
in  great  drops  all  over  his  face.  Nobody  said  a  word  for 
several  minutes,  but  at  last  Bridget  ventured  : — 

"Sure,  sir,  an'  I  don't  think  it's  herself s  the  one  at  all. 
Faix,  but  I've  seen  the  way  it  works,  an'  wouldn't  I  be  afther 
knowing  ?  But  didn't  I  see  the  poor  miserable  sowl  yister- 
day,  whin  she  started  out  An'  didn't  I  say  to  her,  'now,'  sez 
I,  '  don't  be  afther  spinding  ths  money  you've  airnt  for  rum, 


wuuiu-u*;  itoviut^  «"    ..«  Tw « 1*1  J 

at  the  door— and  the  mother  Btood  beside  her  child. 


KATE    WESTON.  201 

I  know  so  well  what  ye'll  come  to ;  now  sure  an'  ye  won't.' 
She  sez  to  me,  sez  she,  '  sure  as  I  'live,  I'm  only  agoing  to 
bring  some  bread  for  the  childher,  and  I'll  be  back  again 
presently.'  It's  that  varmint  of  a  Dutchman  at  the  corner 
that  leads  her  on,  and  leads  thim  all  on,  ivery  blissed  mother's 
son  an'  daughter  of  them  all.  Don't  I  know  it  ?  Isn't  it 
myself  has  catched  them  many's  the  time  a  thrusting  the 
murdherous  crathur  under  me  own  brother's  nose,  and  they 
knowin'  well  enough  that  he  couldn't  bide  the  smell  widout 
upsetting  hisself  intirely.  Och,"  she  concluded  emphatically, 
with  an  impressive  gesture  of  her  hand,  "Och,  but  they're 
the  ones  to  be  hanged  !" 

As  she  stopped  speaking,  a  heavy  step  was  audible  on  the 
stairs.  Up  it  came,  slowly,  unsteadily,  while  the  women 
glanced  nervously  at  each  other,  and  Mr.  Pufton  squared 
himself  about  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  looking  with  a 
would-be  resolute  air  towards  the  door.  On  it  came,  up — up 
— through  the  hall — in  at  the  door — and  the  mother  stood 
beside  her  child.  The  mother !  Oh,  what  a  mother !  The 
figure  was  bent  and  crouching,  the  face  hard,  bloated,  brutal, 
the  dress  filthy,  and  over  the  eyes  large  black  marks  told  too 
plainly  of  her  last  night's  debauch. 

No  one  spoke.  They  could  not  condemn  her,  for  her  punish- 
ment was  there  before  her.  They  could  not  offer  consolation, 
for  she  had  forgotten  a  duty,  and  violated  a  love,  the  hardest 
to  be  forgotten,  and  the  last  to  be  violated  in  this  sinful  world. 
She  stooped  a  little  over  the  dead  boy.  She  laid  her  hand  on 
the  frozen  cheek.  She  looked  wildly  round  to  the  strangers 
in  the  room,  and,  catching  at  one  glimpse  of  the  half-pitying, 
half-averted  faces,  the  extent  of  her  sin  and  wretchedness, 
sank  groaning  upon  the  floor. 

The  mother  still !     Yes — mother — in  whose  breast  there 

burned  a  fire,  quenchless  and  insatiable, — mother — on  whose 

life  there  lay  a  weight  pressing  to  the  grave, — mother — round 

whose  heart  there  clung  a  chain  whose  links  no  human  power 

9* 


202  KATE    WESTON. 

could  sever, — mother — on  whose  brow  was  set  the  seal  of  a 
living  death, — mother — unnatural — wretched — criminal — but 
the  mother  still ! 

For  a  fe\v  moments  she  crouched  there  on  the  floor,  with- 
out uttering  a  word.  Then  the  disfigured  face  was*  slowly 
raised,  and  she  gazed  upon  her  child.  How  could  it  be  her 
child?  Not  in  the  proudest  mansions  of  our  city,  where 
infant  forms  and  faces,  reclining  on  silken  couches,  or  tripping 
over  velvet  floors,  float  about  like  rays  of  sunshine  in  a  dark- 
ened world,  could  be  found  a  gentler  or  a  sweeter  face.  No 
guilt  on  that  fair  brow,  no  scorn  or  hate  in  the  curl  of  that 
sweet  lip.  Oh  what  joy  and  rejoicing  among  the  angels  of 
God  when  such  little  ones  are  taken  from  the  bufferings  of 
poverty  and  pain,  and  the  fierce  snares  that  wait  their  feet  on 
earth,  to  lie.  gently  on  the  bosom  of  that  Savior  who  has  said, 
"  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not, 
for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven." 

When  she  saw  that  life  indeed  was  gone  for  ever  from  the 
small  still  figure,  she  wrung  her  hands,  and  sent  forth  shriek 
after  shriek  in  the  agony  of  her  despair.  Mr.  Pufton  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  He  emerged  from  his  corner,  motioned 
impetuously  to  Edward,  and  rushed  headlong  down  stairs, 
rubbing  his  eyes  at  every  step,  and  nearly  tumbling  over  the 
banister  in  his  nervous  haste.  Edward,  in  obedience  to  his 
gesture,  followed  him  to  the  lower  entry,  where  he  stood, 
making  a  feint  of  hunting  for  his  pocket-book,  but,  in  reality, 
taking  time  to  recover  his  voice. 

"  Here  my  boy,  here,"  he  said,  thrusting  two  ten  dollar  bills 
into  his  hand,  "  that'll  pay  the  expenses  of  the  funeral.  I 
can't  stay — no  use — you  must  do  something — when  that's 
gone,  come  to  me  for  more — poor  Rick  Ryker!  who'd  ha' 
thought  it  ?" 

He  didn't  wait  for  an  answer,  but  opened  the  street  door, 
and  hurried  away  in  a  woeful  state  of  disquietude.  He  passed 
the  grocery  on  the  corner,  and  recognized  in  the  sturdy  Dutch- 

9* 


KATE    WESTON.  203 

man  one  of  his  most  profitable  customers.  He  hurried  on, 
talking  in  an  undertone  to  himself,  and  paying  no  attention 
whatever  to  man.  woman,  or  child  that  passed  him  by.  A 
new  train  of  reasoning  had  evidently  been  fired  in  his  brain. 

"  What  a  villain  you  are  now,  Pufton,"  he  murmured  in  a 
low  energetic  tone.  "  Who  first  taught  poor  Ryker  to  drink,  I 
wonder?  How  came  he  to  be  the  wretch  he  was?  How 
came  his  wife  to  be  the  wretch  she  is  ?  How  came  that  poor 

boy you  did  it  Pufton,  you  know  you  did.  You  are  the 

one  ought  to  be  hanged,  you  know  you  are !  Bless  me,  I 
never  thought  of  that  before.  Catch  me  getting  my  porter* 
drunk  again,  I  reckon  !  After  all,  believe  it's  more  the  fault  of 
the  seller  than  anybody  else.  After  all,  poor  souls,  what  can  they 
do  ?  Slaves,  just  slaves.  Declare,  I've  a  mind  to  give  up  the 
business.  What's  the  use  though  ?  Somebody'd  sell  it — 
they'd  get  the  profit  instead  of  me,  that's  all.  Confound  it, 
what  on  earth  am  I  to  do  ?" 

He  had  probably  never  thought  so  much  in  all  his  life  upon 
the  subject.  Temperance  men  he  had  always  looked  upon  as 
a  set  of  fanatics,  and  the  Temperance  movement  as  something 
very  queer  and  very  ridiculous  indeed,  with  which  he  had  no 
more  to  do  than  with  the  government  of  Terra  del  Fuego ;  con- 
sequently this  peculiar  light  had  dawned  all  at  once  upon 
him,  tumbling  him  about  and  bewildering  him  to  a  degree 
quite  prejudicial  to  the  equanimity  of  his  nervous  system. 

Mr.  Pufton  quarrelled  with  himself,  made  up  again,  and 
quarrelled  again  for  a  whole  week  after  the  above  incident. 
He  couldn't  get  near  the  place  after  that  day,  not  for  his  life 
he  couldn't.  He  placed  money  enough  in  Edward's  hands  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  the  funeral,  and  make  the  family  com- 
fortable, besides  promising  to  keep  Mrs.  Ryker  in  plain  sewing 
enough  to  support  them  if  she  would  pledge  herself  to  keep 
sober.  But,  as  to  visiting  her,  or  arguing  the  point  with  her, 
that  was  out  of  the  question. 

He  reasoned  with  himself,  properly  enough  too,  somewhat 


204  KATE    WESTON. 

after  this  fashion.  "  Now  Pufton,  you've  been  the  means  of 
pushing  her  down ;  are  you  going  to  step  up  to  her  and  say, 
'  Madam,  how  did  you  dare  to  fall.  Everybody  despises  you, 
I  despise  you.  You've  killed  your  child.  If  you'll  be  very 
good  and  very  humble,  I'll  help  you  on  your  feet  again.'  No- 
no — Pufton,  that  never  would  do.  Better  give  yonr  money, 
and  send  somebody  she'd  listen  to." 

The  poor  woman,  penitent  and  broken-hearted  at  the  death 
of  her  child,  listened  with  gratitude  to  the  generous  offers  of 
young  Clarence,  and,  after  signing  the -temperance  pledge,  and 
breaking  loose  from  her  old  associates,  commenced  working 
with  a  determination  never  again  to  taste  the  poison  which 
had  brought  death  to  her  husband  and  child.  This  was  quite 
encouraging  to  Mr.  Pufton.  For  two  or  three  months  sundry 
thumps  and  splinters  of  conscience  pricked  and  jostled  his 
thoughtless,  jolly  little  heart,  but  as  Edward  brought  favor- 
able reports  from  the  widow  and  orphans  of  his  faithful  por- 
ter, he  began  to  feel  quite  easy  again,  and  to  think,  after  all, 
he  wasn't  so  much  to  blame.  If  Rick  Ryker  had  never  served 
him,  something  else  would  have  given  him  the  taste  for 
liquor.  Anybody  could  leave  off  if  they  chose.  It  was  ridi- 
culous to  suppose  a  man  couldn't  keep  from  killing  himself, 
if  he  tried.  She  was  sober  enough,  now  she  tried  to  be.  He 
didn't  think  he  was  doing  exactly  right.  But  he  was  doing 
exacty  what  a  great  many  others  did,  and  if  he  didn't  do  it, 
they  would. 

At  the  end  of  a  month,  when  the  Ryker  family  were  still 
doing  as  well  as  ever,  he  felt  quite  contented  again,  and, 
after  making  arrangements  with  a  large  shirt  establishment 
to  supply  her  with  plain  sewing,  troubled  himself  no  further, 
and  looked  upon  the  case  as  entirely  cured. 


KATE    WESTON  205 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ONE  evening,  Clarence  Snow  was  seized  with  one  of  his 
most  distressing  attacks.  Mr.  Pufton  and  Arthur  Byng  were 
there,  the  father  being  absent.  While  the  young  gentleman 
hurried  off  in  search  of  a  physician,  Mr.  Pufton  went  up  to 
watch  with  his  favorite.  The  convulsions  came  on  with 
increased  violence,  one  after  the  other,  scarcely  giving  the 
sufferer  a  moment's  rest  between.  The  usual  restoratives 
seemed  to  fail  entirely  of  effect.  Arthur  Byng  returned  with 
the  intelligence  that  their  physician  was  away,  and  that  he 
could  not  ascertain  how  soon  he  -might  be  at  liberty.  The 
peculiar  excitement  always  produced  in  a  family  by  diseases 
of  that  nature  fastening  upon  one  of  their  number  was  rising 
to  the  highest  pitch. 

•'  I'm  sure  he'll  never  come  out  of  this  one !"  cried  Alice, 
wringing  her  hands.  "Do  see,  oh  see,  he's  dying,  he  is 
dying !"  and  she  grasped  her  mother's  arm  convulsively. 
"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  who  although  every  nerve  was 
quivering,  kept  down  by  a  strong  effort  all  appearance  of 
terror,  "  my  dear,  he  is  in  God's  hand.  This  is  the  way  he  has 
been  before ;  we  will  hope  for  the  best." 

The  sister,  excitable  to  an  excessive  degree,  and  ardently 
attached  to  her  brother,  was  unable  to  repress  her  alarm,  and 
Kate,  seeing  that  such  apparent  anxiety  was  improper  in  a 
sick-room,  persuaded  her  to  descend  to  the  parlor  with  her, 
and  used  all  her  efforts  to  detain  her. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Clarence  seemed  no  better,  and  his 
mother,  hopeful  as  she  was,  began  to  believe  that  he  would 


206  KATE  *WESTON. 

never  recover  from  his  frightful  paroxysms.  But  aid  was  at 
hand.  Mr.  Pufton  left  Arthur  Byng  for  a  few  minutes  beside 
the  bed,  and  returned  with  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water,  to 
the  administration  of  which  the  mother  offered  no  objection. 
Contrary  to  their  expectations,  it  produced  immediately  a 
most  favorable  result.  After  he  had  taken  it,  there  was  no 
return  of  the  fits,  and  on  recovering  his  consciousness,  be  felt 
better  then  usual  at  such  periods.  After  that,  whenever  the 
symptoms  of  his  disease  began  to  manifest  themselves,  the 
same  mixture  was  prepared  for  him.  For  several  weeks  it 
proved  so  effectual  as  a  preventive,  that  his  parents  began  to 
cherish  a  hope  of  his  ultimate  recovery.  This,  however,  was 
not  to  be,  for  although  some  time  elapsed  before  the  return 
of  the  convulsions,  they  did  return,  at  first  lightly,  then  gradu- 
ally increasing  in  power,  until  they  were  far  more  violent  and 
unmanageable  than  ever. 

Something  at  this  time,  began  to  trouble  Kate  "Weston 
more  than  any  one  imagined.  Like  a  shadow  slowly  con- 
densing into  form  and  substance  came  the  doubt  of  Edward's 
safety  from  the  slavery  of  wine.  Many  times  she  had  seen 
an  unnatural  lustre  in  his  eye,  and  an  unnatural  flush  upon 
his  cheek  that  sent  a  thrill  of  something  between  pain  and 
admiration  to  her  heart.  She  had  heard  and  seen  from 
infancy  total  abstinence  advocated  by  her  father,  as  the  only 
safeguard  against  an  enemy  that  almost  every-one  took 
cordially  to  their  homes,  and  welcomed  to  their  social  gather- 
ings as  the  life  of  their  entertainments.  She,  therefore, 
looked  upon  the  fir&t  incursion  of  the  foe  with  a  more  jealous 
eye  then  almost  any  young  lady  of  her  acquaintance.  At 
length  she  resolved,  with  much  reluctance,  to  broach  the  sub- 
ject to  her  lover,  feeling  that  no  false  delicacy  should  deter 
her  from  speaking  of  that  in  which  so  much  of  his  future 
was  involved. 

One  clear  frosty  morning  they  started  out  for  a  sleigh-ride. 
Alice  was  to  have  accompanied  them,  but  a  violent  toothache 


KATE    WESTON.  207 

had  prevented.  Kate  resolved,  as  she  sprang  into  the  sleigh, 
that  she  would  not  let  the  opportunity  pass  for  which  she  had 
so  long  been  desiring.  There  had  been  on  the  previous  day 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  and  as  they  left  the  crowded  streets  of 
the  city  behind,  and  the  light,  vehicle  glided  fleetly  along  over 
the  well-tracked  road,  that  keen  sense  of  enjoyment  peculiar 
to  the  young  and  hopeful  thrilled  in  their  hearts,  and  sparkled 
in  their  faces. 

"This  is  just  the  weather  for  me,"  said  Edward,  as  the  wind 
blew  the  short  curls  from  his  face,  "clear  and  bracing.  I 
feel  like  a  different  being  on  such  a  day.  Don't  you  think  it 
delightful,  Kate  ?" 

"  I  do  enjoy  it  extremely,"  said  Kate.  "  No  amusement  of 
which  I  am  so  fond  as  riding,  either  on  horseback  in  summer, 
or  sleighing  in  winter.  It  is  very  invigorating." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  remarked  her  companion,  "  from  the 
looks  of  your  cheeks.  Kate,  my  dear,  you  grow  handsomer 
every  day." 

"  You  are  very  abrupt  in  your  compliments,"  laughed 
Kate.  "  You  haven't  the  least  fear  of  spoiling  me,  I  see. 
However,  my  mother  used  to  tell  me,  when  I  was  a  little  girl, 
'  handsome  is  that  handsome  does.'  So  I  must  bear  it  in  mind 
now,  and  not  allow  you  to  change  your  opinion  when  you 
know  me  better." 

"  Know  you  better,"  cried  Edward,  "  that  I  shall  never  do  ; 
I  know  you  are  the  best,  dearest " — 

"  There  now,"  interrupted  Kate,  blushing,  "  so  I  am,  I  don't 
deny  it ;  only  spare  my  blushes,  but  wait  three  or  four  years. 
I  don't  think  you  know  me  yet.  If  we  could  drop  in  and 
take  a  peep  at  home  now.  Do  you  know  I'm  beginning  to  be 
homesick  ?" 

"  When  I'm  here,  Kate  ?  Well,  that's  too  bad.  I  had  con- 
ceit enough  to  imagine  myself  a  sufficient  attraction  to  divert 
your  thoughts,  but  alas,  I  find  myself  mistaken." 

"  Never  mind,  Edward.     I've  no  doubt  you  have  something 


208  KATE    WESTON. 

to  do  with  reconciling  me  to  the  prospect  of  remaining  in 
the  city  until  spring.  You  must  remember,  I  was  never  away 
from  home  so  long  before.  I'm  only  half-fledged,  you  know." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this,  broken  only  by  the 
tinkling  of  the  bells,  and  the  hum  of  the  city  dying  in  the 
distance.  At  length  Kate  looked  up  at  her  companion,  who 
was  mechanically  holding  the  reins,  and  buried  in  a  brown 
study.  Sho  had  been  revolving  in  her  mind  the  manner  in 
which  she  should  mention  her  fears,  and  over  and  over  again 
as  the  words  were  quivering  right  at  the  end  of  her  tongue, 
her  heart  failed  her  before  they  were  uttered.  As  she  looked 
up  her  eye  met  his,  and  she  asked  involuntarily,  "  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Edward  ?" 

She  had  no  sooner  spoken,  than  she  was  sorry  she  had  not 
said  what  she  intended ;  "  perhaps,"  she  thought,  "  I  shall 
have  no  other  chance,  but  it's  too  late  now." 

"  Your  remark,"  answered  Edward,  "  started  a  train  of 
thought,  that  went  running  away  into  the  far  future.  Sup- 
pose circumstances  should  require  it,  do  you  think  you  could 
leave  father  and  mother  and  go  with  me  wherever  my  lot 
were  cast  ?" 

The  question  was  seriously  asked,  and  as  seriously  answered. 

"  Well  Edward,  if  circumstances  required  it,  that  is,  if  it 
could  not  be  avoided,  I  would.  But  I  can  conceive  of  no  pos- 
sible circumstances  that  would  require  us  to  leave  them  in 
their  old  age.  You  surely  think  so  too." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edward  musingly,  "  and  yet  we  know  not  what 
lies  before  us.  Some  day  we  may  do  as  so  many  others  have 
done,  leave  the  home  of  our  childhood  never  to  return." 

"  I  don't  see  what  should  put  that  into  your  head,"  said  his 
companion.  "  I'm  sure  there's  not  the  slightest  prospect  of  any 
such  departure  now,  and  there's  no  use  puzzling  our  brains 
about  what  we  might  do  in  all  sorts  of  improbable  posi- 
tions." 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Edward  quickly,  "  I  did  not  intend  that. 


KATE    WESTON.  209 

It  was  a  mere  flitting  thought ;  you  asked  for  it ;  and  I  gave 
it  you." 

"  Wait  a  few  years,  Edward,"  she  answered  smiling.  "  I 
tell  you,  you  do  not  know  me  yet.  I  don't  know  myself. 
Time  will  prove  us  both,  but  not  in  the  way  to  which  you 
allude." 

"  But  Time,"  he  answered,  "  opens  up  a  great  many  avenues 
that  we  don't  dream  of  till  they  lie  directly  before  us." 

Here  Kate's  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  point  they  had  left 
when  they  commenced  the  conversation. 

"  There  is  one  avenue  that  opens  to  a  great  many,"  said 
she,  making  a  sudden  resolve  to  speak  at  all  hazards. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Edward. 

"  An  avenue  leading  to  ruin  and  death,"  she  coniJinued, 
with  a  faltering  voice. 

The  young  man  looked  surprised.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Kate  ?  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Edward,  you  must  not  be  offended,"  she  cried  earnestly  ; 
"  you  know  how  fearful  I  am  of  indulgence  in  wine.  I  wish 
you  would  never  drink  it." 

Edward  laughed  outright.  "  Bless  you,  Katie  dear,  you 
surely  are  not  afraid  of  me.  I  thought  you  had  a  higher 
opinion  of  my  judgment  and  firmness  than  to  imagine  I  was 
in  danger." 

The  laugh  sounded  very  sorrowful  to  the  young  girl.  She 
would  rather  have  heard  anything  than  that.  She  expected 
he  would  feel  hurt,  perhaps  a  little  angry,  but  she  read  •  a 
sadder  page  in  the  careless  laugh  than  either.  It  told  her 
that  he  saw  no  danger  in  the  sparkling  cup  ;  it  told  her  that 
he  thought  of  indulgence  in  the  beverage  as  too  harmless  to 
be  relinquished.  It  told  her  that  he  had  no  sympathy  with 
her  fears,  no  knowledge  of  her  former  sorrow,  when  she  had 
seen  him  deeply  under  its  influence.  Her  heart  sank  withir 
her,  but  she  was  determined  not  to  give  it  up  without  one 
effort. 


210  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Edward,  you  don't  see  this  as  I  do.  You  do  not  feel  that 
the  danger  is  to  be  apprehended  by  you.  Well,  don't  look 
at  yourself;  look  at  all  the  victims  of  intemperance  that  you 
have  ever  known,  and  see  if  they  were  not  all  temperate 
young  men,  taking  to  themselves  the  same  gratulations  on 
their  self-control,  and  drawn  blindfold  into  the  snare  that 
finally  proved  their  ruin." 

"  Yes,  Kate,"  rejoined  her  companion  readily,  "  I  know  it  is 
so,  but  on  the  other  hand,  how  many  indulge  moderately  all 
their  lives,  and  never  become  inebriates.  AVhy,  you  won't 
find  one  man  in  half  a  dozen  that  never  touches  wine,  and 
when  you  take  that  into  consideration,  you  will  see  that  a  very 
small  proportion  of  wine-drinkers  ever  become  drunkards." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Kate,  "  a  very  melancholy  fact  that 
so  many  are  wine-drinkers.  I  have  often  wondered  that  there 
is  no  law  to  hinder  such  a  free  use  of  liquor  of  all  kinds." 

"  Why,  there  is :  the  license  law,  you  know,"  suggested 
Edward. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  that,  to  be  sure,"  said  Kate, 
"  but  I  could  never  see  any  good  resulting  from  it.  But,  Ed- 
ward, this  is  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you.  I  believe  that  the 
yielding  up  of  yourself  to  the  influence  of  drink  is  owing 
very  frequently  to  a  constitutional  tendency,  rather  than  to 
any  criminal  recklessness  of  doing  evil.  The  very  best  char- 
acters in  the  world  are  sometimes  led  into  this  snare.  Many 
times  those  who,  but  for  that,  would  have  made  public  bene- 
factors and  celebrated  men,  are  drawn  so  slowly,  so  surely 
down  to  utter  ruin  that  they  seem  to  have  no  power  or  will 
that  is  not  subservient  to  this  resistless  tendency.  That  is 
where  the  great  evil  seems  to  lie.  If  it  were  not  in  their 
power  now  " — 

"  Oh,  Kate,"  interrupted  Edward,  '-'  you  are  too  charitable- 
If  a  man  becomes  a  drunkard,  it's  his  own  fault,  and  he  has 
nobody  to  blame  but  himself.  It's  absurd  to  talk  of  taking 
it  out  of  his  power,  that  never  could  be  done." 


KATE    WESTON.  211 

Kate  heaved  a  sigh.  She  was  young,  but  her  judgment 
•was  of  no  common  order,  and  upon  this  subject  she  was  fixed 
as  a  rock.  Her  intuitive  delicacy  of  perception  had  taught 
her  how  perilous  to  the  excitable  temperament  of  Edward 
was  the  first  yielding  to  his  taste  for  wine,  and  she  had  hoped 
to  convince  him  of  the  necessity  of  her  fears.  But  she  found 
a  poor  foundation  upon  which  to  build  her  arguments.  It 
was  evident  that  he  regarded  every  man  criminal  who  yielded 
repeatedly  to  a  debased  appetite,  and  plumed  himself  upon 
his  upright  principles  as  a  safeguard  from  temptation.  She 
looked  forward  through  long  coming  years  upon  what  might 
fall  upon  his  head,  so  noble,  so  generous,  so  aspiring.  She 
saw  in  the  chief  charm  of  his  character  the  very  point,  that 
unshielded  by  religion,  was  most  vulnerable  to  the  shaft  of  the 
enemy.  Confident  as  he  was,  she  knew  that  his  eyes  were 
darkened  to  the  peril,  and  her  inner  spirit  cowered  at  thought 
of  the  possible  future. 

"  I  wish  then,  Edward,"  she  said,  lifting  her  gentle,  plead- 
ing eyes  to  his  face,  "  I  wish  you  would  abstain  from  it  for 
my  sake,  because  it  makes  me  uneasy,  if  you're  not  afraid 
yourself." 

Edward  looked  quite  amused  as  he  answered,  "  You  beg  so 
charmingly,  Kate,  that  if  you  had  asked  almost  anything 
else,  I  could  not  possibly  have  refused  you.  But  for  you  to 
imagine  that  I  have  no  more  sense  than  that — it's  quite  a 
death-blow  to  my  pride,  I  can  assure  you.  Why,  you  abso- 
lutely force  me  to  keep  on  taking  wine  for  the  sake  of  show- 
ing you  that  I'm  not  the  simpleton  you  take  me  for.  Then 
besides,  what  would  people  think,  Katie  ?  I  should  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  half  the  world." 

"Then  half  the  world  has  either  no  heart  or  no  judgment," 
said  Kate,  a  little  bitterly  for  her,  "  I  wish  you  could  look 
through  my  glasses  at  this  matter.  It  seems  so  different 
to  me." 

"But  your  glasses  wouldn't  fit  my  eyes,"  said  Edward, 


212  KATE    WE8TON. 

laughing.  "  You  are  prejudiced,  just  as  father  is.  But  he 
never  had  any  fear  of  me" 

"  Only  because  he  doesn't  know  you  use  it,"  said  Kate.  "  He 
thinks  of  the  peril  in  the  abstract ;  I,  _  true  woman  fashion, 
look  no  further  than  home.  Man's  sympathies  are  apt  to 
scatter  abroad,  woman's  to  centre  to  one  focus.  It  is  there 
the  difference  lies. 

"  Oh  well !"  cried  Edward,  touching  up  the  horses  with  his 
whip,  "  it's  no  use  our  quarrelling  all  the  way.  Just  wait  a 
while,  and  I'll  show  you.  In  a  couple  of  weeks  I  take  my 
diploma,  and  I'll  make  the  man  yet  that  will  astonish  you. 
With  the  incentive  1  have  to  labor,"  he  added  with  a  loving 
glance  at  Kate,  "  I  ought  to  succeed  at  anything." 

So  the  debate  was  given  up,  forgotten  on  Edward's  part,  as 
soon  as  the  words  were  spoken,  but  abiding  in  Kate's  memory, 
with  a  sorrowful  shadow,  long  after  the  fruitless  effort  to 
avert  the  peril  had  been  made  by  her  on  that  sunny  winter's 
morning. 

Kate  was  right  in  saying  that  Edward  did  not  know  her. 
Much  as  she  loved  him,  there  was  many  a  leaf  in  her  heart 
folded  from  his  gaze.  Not  because  she  had  anything  to  con- 
ceal, but  because  a  deep  sensitiveness  in  her  nature,  like  that 
of  the  mimosa,  shrank  instinctively  from  the  gentlest  touch. 
She  was  chary  of  alluding  to  herself  in  any  way  whatever. 
Of  her  faults  she  might  sometimes  speak  readily  enough,  of 
her  virtues  never.  None  but  her  mother  knew  to  the  full, 
what  power  was  in  that  girlish  heart  of  love  and  suffering ; 
how,  through  long  future  years,  let  joy  or  sorrow  walk  beside 
her,  she  would  be  still  the  same,  gentle,  hopeful,  trusting ; 
matured,  perhaps  by  trial,  but  'more  matured  then  through 
unbroken  pleasure.  The  heart  out  of  which  hers  had  grown, 
catching  each  delicate  shade  of  Christian  gentleness,  drinking 
into  its  finest  tissues  the  life  whose  germ  alone  is  in  this 
W9rld,  the  life  that  bursts  forth  in  full  perfection  only  in  the 
sun  and  air  of  Heaven,  that  heart  alone  read  every  thought 


KATE    WESTON.  213 

and  purpose  of  the  youthful  kindred  heart  throbbing  with 
her  own,  mingling  as  the  fragrance  of  two  flowers,  or  the 
melody  of  two -harps  in  perfect  tune. 

The  following  is  the  last  letter  written  to  Mrs.  Weston 
previous  to  her  daughter's  return  in  the  spring.  Feelings — 
hopes  and  fears,  joy  and  sorrow,  are  betrayed  as  much  by  the 
glance  or  tone  as  by  words  themselves.  These  we  cannot  see, 
therefore  we  have  recourse  to  the  most  authentic  source  for 
taking  a  peep  into  the  inner  soul  of  one  whose  noblest 
virtues  and  most  lamented  faults  were  known  to  her  mother 
alone. 

"DEAR — DEAR  MOTHER, 

Two  weeks  more  and  I  shall  be  with-  you.  You  know  not  how 
the  time  lengthens  as  that  happy  day  draws  near.  Each  day  seems 
made  up  of  hours  that  might  be  days,  so  eagerly  do  I  long  to  be  at 
home.  Upon  the  whole,  the  winter  has  been  a  very  pleasant  one.  So 
much  has  been  done  for  my  happiness,  that  I  should  have  been  very 
ungrateful  not  to  be  happy.  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  found  me 
quite  spoiled  after  receiving  so  much  attention  and  flattery  as  has 
fallen  to  my  share  since  I  have  been  here.  But,  after  all,  mother, 
there  is  no  food  for  tjjp  heart  in  this.  I  would  give  more  for  one  of 
your  encouraging  words  or  smiles  than  for  the  admiration  of  all  the 
flippant  pleasure  seekers  in  New  York.  I  do  not  see  how  Alice,  with 
her  keen  perception  of  good  and  evil,  can  be  so  fond  of  New  York 
society  ;  that  is  the  society  in  which  she  moves.  It  must  be  owing  to 
her  having  been  brought  up  in  its  midst,  and  to  her  natural  vivacity 
of  temper,  which  finds,  more  easily  there  than  anywhere  else,  a  con- 
stant field  for  its  exercise.  She  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  amiable 
and  attractive  girls  I  ever  met.  and  the  more  I  am  associated  with 
her,  the  more  do  I  see  beneath  the  sparkling  su  rface  of  her  wit,  that 
which  is  lovable  and  true. 

"  I  should  not  be  very  much  surprised  if  there  were  a  double  wed- 
ding here  when  Alice  is  married.  It  has  always  been  a  mystery  to 
me  that  Mrs.  Maylie  should  refuse  Mr.  Pufton  so  repeatedly,  when  I 
know  that  she  admired,  and  even  loved  him,  spite  of  his  eccentrici- 
ties, or  rather  for  the  sterling  qualities  that  cause  them.  The  other 
day  I  obtained  a  slight  clue  to  her  reasons,  and  I  believe  if  that 
objection  were  removed,  she  would  accept  him  still.  Arthur  Byng 


214  KATE    WESTON. 

had  been  discussing  with  us  (Mrs.  Maylie,  Alice,  and  myself),  the 
various  channels  into  which  it  seemed  advisable  to  throw  his  cap- 
ital and  energies,  when  with  a  halt'  smile  he  remarked,  "  Well,  what 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Pufton  has  been  using  every  means  in  his  power  to 
persuade  me  to  buy  out  Mr.  Dunn's  establishment  for  the  importa- 
tion of  foreign  liquors.  He  says  it  would  be  the  best  investment  I 
could  make.' 

"  •  Never  do  that !'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Maylie,  with  more  emphasis 
than  her  self-possession  generally  allows  her  to  make.  The  words 
were  so  emphatic  that  every  one  of  us  instinctively  looked  up  into  her 
face,  and — mother,  she  blushed — Mrs.  Maylie  actually  blushed.  Alice, 
in  her  usual  bantering  manner  exclaimed, '  Why  auntie,  you  are  turn- 
ing into  an  apostle  of  the  Washingtonians  ;  I  didn't  know  you  were 
so  earnest  on  that  subject.'  Her  aunt  had  by  this  time  recovered 
herself,  and  said  calmly,  '  Their  opinions  have  always  been  mine 
upon  the  subject,  but  you  know  I  seldom  express  my  opinions  very 
freely.' 

"  '  Ah !  ah,  auntie,'  answered  Alice  with  one  of  her  roguish  winks, 
'  perhaps,  if  you  would,  you  might  do  some  good  in  a  certain  quarter. 
You  ought  to  do  all  the  good  in  your  power.' 

"'Perhaps  so,'  answered  Mrs.  Maylie.  'But  the  truth  is.' — here 
she  stopped,  and  shook  her  head  without  telling  us  what  the  truth 
was,  and  although  Alice  has  been  teazing  her  ever  since  to  finish  the 
sentence,  she  only  smiles  and  shakes  her  head  as  before.  Alice  said 
to  me  the  other  day,  quite  in  earnest, '  Kate,  Ideally  have  a  mind  to 
tell  Mr.  Pufton  what  Aunt  Sophy  said  the  other  night.  He'd  retire 
from  business  in  a  minute  on  the  strength  of  it ;  and  I  really  believe 
she'd  marry  him  at  last.  I've  heard  those  that  know  say,  that  she 
loved  him  in  the  first  place  better  than  her  first  husband,  but  for  some 
unaccountable  reason  she  refuses  him  now.  Who  knows  but  that's  it, 
But  then  why  doesn't  she  try  to  influence  him  ?  That's  what  puzzles 
me.  You  know  Aunt  Maylie  was  never  one  to  let  her  affections  run 
away  with  her  reason.' 

"  I  didn't  tell  her  what  I  thought ;  but  from  what  I  know  of  the 
lady's  character,  the  stress  she  places  upon  correct  principles, 
and  the  involuntary  betrayal  of  her  feelings  the  other  evening,  I 
finished  the  sentence  she  began  quite  to  my  own  satisfaction,  although, 
of  course,  I  cannot  say  that  it  was  finished  correctly.  It  runs  thus, 
'  Perhaps  so,  but  the  truth  is,  I  do  not  desire  any  one  to  give  up  a 
business  that  I  consider  wrong,  merely  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  me  ; 
if  not  done  from  his  own  conviction  of  duty,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
it  might  as  well  not  be  done  at  all.'  If  these  surmises  are  true,  I 


KATE    WESTON.  215 

think  there  is  some  probability  of  a  double  wedding,  for  I  have 
noticed  that  the  dear,  good-tempered  little  gentleman  has  seemed  a 
little  fidgety  on  this  subject  ever  since  the  incident  I  related  to  you, 
in  which  he  bore  so  conspicuous  a  part ;  and  if  he  once  becomes  con- 
vinced that  he's  doing  anybody  on  earth  any  harm  by  it,  he'd  give 
it  up  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Clarence,  poor  boy,  is  growing  quite  impatient  and  fretful ;  more, 
I  think,  from  the  liquor  administered  as  a  preventive  to  the  dis- 
ease, than  from  the  disease  itself.  It  pains  me  extremely  to  see  that 
he  has  acquired  a  taste  that  I  fear  was  easier  in  acquiring  than  it  will 
be  in  overcoming.  Indeed,  you  would  be  surprised  to  see  the  change 
in  his  character ;  once  the  gentlest,  tenderest  son  in  the  world,  he 
has  become  boisterous  and  unruly,  even  to  his  patient,  devoted 
mother. 

"Sophronia  Maylie,  notwithstanding  her  approaching  marriage, 
has  plunged  enthusiastically  into  the  cause  of  Woman's  Rights. 

"  Now  then,  mother,  for  a  word  about  myself.  Something  lately  has 
been  weighing  on  my  mind — something  that  I  cannot  feel  to  be  of 
slight  consequence — something  that  you  will  not  consider  of  slight 
consequence — Edward,  my  Edward,  is  learning  to  love  wine.  I  see 
it,  I  know  it ;  he  does  not  see  it,  nor  know  it ;  nor  can  I  convince 
him  of  it.  To  you  alone,  best,  dearest  mother,  would  I  entrust  my 
fears,  for  to  you.  present  or  absent,  my  heart  is  ever  open. 

"I  have  conversed  with  him  upon  the  subject,  and  he  treats  my 
arguments  precisely  as  he  would  if  the  matter  under  discussion  were 
a  mere  matter  of  opinion,  involving  no  risk  to  himself.  Notwithstand- 
ing all  I  could  say,  he  still  seemed  to  take  this  unconcerned  view  of 
the  case ;  and  since  then  I  have  seen  him  in  a  condition  that  I  should 
call  half-intoxicated,  but  which  he  would  call  a  little  exhilarated. 
You  will  know  how  much  this  pains  me,  for  you  know  as  well  as  I 
how  impetuous  he  is,  how  much  his  generous  nature  compels  him  to 
yield  to  impulse,  how  delightful  to  his  buoyant  spirit  must  be  the 
exhilaration  produced  by  wine,  and  far  better  than  I,  the  danger  of 
yielding  to  its  power. 

"  Oh !  there  is  much  in  life  to  contend  with.  Young  as  I  am,  I 
see  a  possible  future  of  struggle  and  trial  that  no  earthly  wisdom 
can  avert,  no  earthly  strength  sustain.  When  this  looms  up  darkly 
before  me,  my  soul  trembles,  not  lest  His  word  should  fail,  who  says, 
'  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee,'  but  lest  my  poor  weak  faith 
should  fail  in  resigning  all,  even  the  temporal  and  eternal  life  of 
those  I  love  best,  into  His  hand. 

"  Sometimes  in  the  still  night,  when  I  have  been  with  Edward  to 


216          .  KATE    WESTON. 

some  scene  of  amusement  or  gaiety,  there  steals  over  me  a  something 
I  can  hardly  describe — a  feeling  as  though  all  this  artificial  life  were 
too  empty  of  g^od,  too  fully  fraught  with  evil,  for  a  follower  of 
Jesus  to  enter  at  all  within  its  precincts. 

"  At  small  dancing  parties,  at  concerts,  or  even  in  some  of  our 
fashionable  churches,  Vanity  Fair  will  come  irresistibly  to  my  mind 
in  connection  with  the  excessive  regard  paid  by  all  classes  to  appear- 
ances, almost  always  to  the  destruction  of  that  which  is  real  and 
earnest. 

"  Edward  does  not  see  this.  I  could  hardly  expect  that  he  should. 
In  the  first  place  he  is  far  more  fond  of  excitement  than  I ;  in  the 
next,  his  taste  has  never  been  subdued  by  the  simplicity  of  our  plain, 
unvarnished  faith.  There  is  to  me  more  true  friendship  exchanged  in 
the  simple '  thee  and  thou '  of  the  unassuming  Fraternity,  to  which  you 
and  Father  belong,  than  in  the  whole  vocabulary  of  polite  phrases  in 
vogue  among  our  wealthier  classes.  And  after  all.  what  is  this  world  ? 
'  Life  is  real.  Life  is  earnest,'  so  far  as  OUP  labors  are  concerned,  and 
our  eternal  interests  influenced  thereby.  But  when  we  come  to  look  at 
life  as  it  is  generally  exhibited  in  this  whirling  city,  compared  to  the 
life  that  never  ends,  it  is  nothing.  Only  while  jostling  in  the  great 
world  having  '  Eye-gate,  Ear-gate,'  and  every  other  avenue  to  the  soul 
so  constantly  besieged  by  enemies  to  God,  it  is  hard  to  keep  His  image 
always  before  the  eye  of  faith,  shutting  out  the  things  that  appeal  more 
immediately  to  sense,  and  living  as  children  subservient  always,  in  all 
things,  to  His  Almighty  will. 

"Mother  dear.  I  see  that  I  have  written  an  unconscionable  letter. 
But  to  you  alone  I  can  freely  speak,  and  I  know  you  are  never  tired  of 
my  talk.  I  love  Alice  dearly,  but  she  could  not  understand  this  at  all 
and  would  laugh  off  in  fun  what  I  should  say  in  sober  earnest.  Edward 
cannot  now  sympathize  in  my  deepest  feelings,  but  I  believe  the  time 
is  coming  when  he  may  ;  only  for  the  shadow,  mother — the  shadow, 
dearest  mother ! 

"  Mrs.  Ainslie,  indeed,  is  much  like  you,  but  she  is  not  you.  We 
shall  come  home,  Doctor  Edward  Pufton  Clarence  and  myself,  one 
week  from  next  Monday,  unless  something  occurs  to  prevent.  Much 
love  to  dear  father.  Pray  for  me,  pray  for  us  to  be  kept  from  the  evil. 

Always  the  same 

Your  own  loving 

KATE. 


KATE    WESTON.  21 7 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  CAN'T  see  it,  sir — not  at  all,  sir.  My  opinion,  you  are  very 
silly  indeed, — beg  pardon,  sir, — no  offence,  sir.  Look  at  my 
warehouse,  sir,"  and  Mr.  Pufton  waved  bis  fat  hand  with  no 
little  complacency  in  the  direction  of  some  hundred  casks 
of  the  finest  liquors.  "  I  say,  look  at  my  warehouse,  sir, — 
why,  I  wouldn't  look  at  $20,000  for  my  stock  alone.  And  the 
business  I'm  doing!  bless  me,  it's  nothing,  sir,  absolutely 
nothing  to  ask  for  that  concern.  Why  Dunn's  warehouse  is 
every  whit  as  good  as  mine,  can't  imagine  why  he'd  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  sell  for  such  a  trifle. 

"  But  it's  heart  trouble,"  he  added,  in  a  softened  tone,  "  poor 
fellow,  heart  trouble,  don't  know,  bachelor's  life  is  better  than 
that  anyhow.  Come  now,  Byng,  you'll  never  have  as  good  a 
chance  again." 

"  I  cannot  wonder,"  answered  the  young  man,  "  that  you 
think  me  very  foolish  in  not  accepting  such  an  offer,  but  it's 
no  use,  none  at  all,"  and  he  placed  his  foot  firmly  upon  the 
floor,  "  if  he  gave  it  me  I  would  not  take  it.  You  cannot 
appreciate  my  motives,  for  you  are  blind  to  the  evils  which  I 
have  seen  and  experienced." 

The  mercurial  little  old  bachelor  jumped  out  of  his  seat, 
placed  his  hands  so  skillfully  in  the  small  of  his  back,  as  to 
make  his  coat  tails  bob  very  decisively  at  every  step,  and 
flustered  nervously  some  two  or  three  times  across  the  floor. 
Then  he  came  back,  and  stood  directly  in  front  of  his  visitor, 
exclaiming  in  an  impatient  tone,  "  Well  the  fact's  just  this, 
sir,  you  haven't  common  sense,  sir;  never  dreamt  of  such 


218  KATE    WESTON. 

obstinacy.  Why,  can't  you  see  that  somebody'll  take  the 
matter  in  hand  if  you  don't  ?  Somebody'll  make  a  fortune 
out  of  it ;  just  as  many  folks'll  drink  rum,  just  as  many  folks'll 
sell  it,  if  you  don't  do  it.  Better  make  the  money  and  do 
some  good  with  it,  that's  my  notion ;  and  he  frowned  quite 
terrifically  upon  the  willful  young  man." 

"  I  cannot  help  it  if  you  think  so,"  answered  Mr.  Byng 
calmly ;  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  for  it,  did  I  not  know  that 
your  friendship  would  remain  unimpaired  notwithstanding  my 
obstinacy,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it.  But  even  in  that  case} 
I  should  feel  myself  compelled  to  resist  your  persuasions,  and 
not  only  that,  but  to  resist  to  the  utmost  of  my  power  the  use 
and  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks  as  the  greatest  cause  of  suffer- 
ing and  crime  that  ever  existed  in  the  world." 

"  But  your  not  selling  it  won't  make  any  less  suffering  or 
crime,"  answered  Mr.  Pufton.  "  No  use  in  losing  a  good 
chance,  when  nobody's  a  bit  the  better  for  it ;  the  fact  is,  sir, 
I'm  out  of  patience,  sir ;  you  know  I  am,  sir ;  can't  help  it, 
sir,  for  my  life  I  can't." 

There  was  a  half-smile  on  the  decided  face,  and  a  half-pang 
in  the  unbending  heart,  as  the  young  man  answered  musingly, 
"  And  yet  I  know  of  those  whose  best  hopes  have  been 
wrecked  in  trusting  to  that  very  argument.  It's  a  mournful 
tone  to  me,  that '  no  one'll  be  the  worse  for  it.'  However,"  he 
added,  in  a  louder  tone,  "  I  ought  to  explain :  the  point  lies 
here,  Mr.  Pufton,  with  me,  at  least.  If  I  were  sure  that  no 
one  would  be  at  all  influenced  by  my  conduct  in  this  matter^ 
I  should  act  precisely  the  same.  I  think  it  wrong  to  sell 
liquor  at  all,  and  for  that  reason,  although  I  stood  single- 
handed  against  the  world,  I  would  carry  out  my  sentiments 
in  both  practice  and  theory." 

"  Well,  well,  suppose  I  must  take  it  easy,  though  if  it  were 
only  for  the  sake  of  your  bewitching  little  sweetheart,  should 
have  been  glad  to  see  you  master  of  such  a  capital  business," 
said  Mr.  Pufton,  relapsing  into  his  usual  good-humored  manner. 


KATE    WESTON.  219 

"  I  think,"  rejoined  the  young  man  smiling,  "  and  she 
thinks  that  her  interests  will  be  promoted  to  a  far  greater 
degree  by  my  refusal  than  acceptance  of  such  an  offer." 

"  There's  Edward  Clarence,  my  namesake  now,"  said  his 
companion,  "  he'd  have  been  worth  a  pretty  little  fortune  for 
a  beginning,  at  any  rate,  before  this  time,  but  his  opinionated 
father  just  put  a  veto  on  it  at  once.  He's  my  boy,  is  Edward, 
sir.  I'd  have  done  handsomely  by  him,  sir.  He  isn't  a  fool, 
either ;  it  wasn't  his  doing,  refusing  to  come  in  with  me. 
He's  good  enough  to  satisfy  anybody.  If  he  would  do  it, 
you  needn't  quibble  about  the  right  and  wrong  of  such  a 
little  matter.  Didn't  expect  it  of  you,  sir, — indeed  I  didn't,  sir." 

Arthur  Byng  saw  that  his  bachelor  friend  was  getting 
provoked  again,  and  remarked  quietly,  "  You  know  there 
must  be  differences  in  character  and  opinions ;  there  are  no 
doubt  many  things  that  I  do,  which  he  would  not  engage  in. 
He  would  not  view  this  subject  in  the  same  light  as  myself. 
I  could  see  that  at  a  glance  ;  he  is  too  impulsive  and  unsuspi- 
cious." 

"  Bless  the  boy,  he's  got  a  warm  heart,  sir,  no,  not  a  warm 
heart,  but  a  boiling  heart,  sir,  boiling  all  over  with  love  and 
good  nature.  How  he  did  hold  on  to  poor  Ryker's  family  till 
he  saw  them  safe  out  of  trouble  and  danger ;  never  saw  any 
body  like  him,  sir." 

"  Better  if  they  had  been  kept  out  of  trouble  and  danger," 
said  the  young  man  with  a  slight,  but  peculiar  emphasis  in 
his  voice.  Upon  this,  Mr.  Pufton,  still  keeping  his  hands 
behind  him,  balanced  himself  alternately  upon  heels  and  toes, 
threw  his  round  head  back  so  as  to  command  an  unobstructed 
view  of  the  ceiling,  and  stood  gazing  thereat,  as  though 
drinking  inspiration  from  the  view.  His  companion  looked 
at  him  in  silence,  but  a  grave  expression  of  inquiry  rested  on 
his  features  as  he  watched  the  artless  little  gentleman  so 
intently  eying  the  wall. 

Through    the    older   head   were   flitting  sundry  thought- 


220  KATE    WESTON. 

less  expressions  that  had  escaped  him  when  the  dead  baby 
and  its  wretched  mother  roused  such  a  tempest  in  his 
heart.  "  "What  a  wretch  you  are  now,  Pufton !  "Who  first 
taught  poor  Kyker  to  drink,  I  wonder  ?  You  did  it  Pufton, 
you  are  the  one  ought  to  be  hanged, — you  know  you  are !" 
4fter  that,  a  sweet  baby  face,  with  half-closed  eyes,  and  a 
large  one,  all  swollen  and  discolored,  glanced  reproachfully 
at  him ;  then  came  the  remembrance  of  reform,  peace  and 
comfort,  the  unuttered  thought,  "  no  need  of  it  all — let  every 
body  take  care  of  oneself,"  and  with  an  energetic  puff,  intended 
to  dispel  at  once  all  disturbing  fancies,  Mr.  Pufton  brought 
his  head,  hands,  and  feet  into  a  respectable  position,  and 
looked  over  again  at  his  visitor. 

To  him  the  action  of  his  companion  had  suggested  a  sud- 
den thought.  "  There  are  reproaches  of  conscience  there ; 
how  transparent  are  his  actions  ;  how  warm-hearted  he  is.  I 
might  do  him  good  by  relating  —how  can  I  ?"  Then  came 
a  dark  vision  floating  before  him,  and  when  his  eyes  met 
those  of  his  friend,  there  was  an  expression  more  than 
grave,  more  than  sorrowful,  gleaming  from  their  depths. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Byng?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pufton,  his 
thoughts  flying  off  at  a  tangent  from  the  widow  and  her 
children.  "You  couldn't  look  worse  if  you'd  been  to  the 
funeral  of  your  own  mother." 

The  expression  deepened  in  intensity  as  he  answered  in  a 
subdued  tone,  "  It  is  there  that  I  have  been  ;  it  is  to  that  my 
thoughts  were  wandering ;  our  remarks  had  called  up  scenes 
long  since  transacted.  I  will  tell  you  something  that  I  have 
never  told,  even  to  my  nearest  friend." 

Mr.  Pufton  looked  surprised,  but  seated  himself  without  a 
word  in  his  easy-chair,  and  laid  his  head  on  one  side  in  a 
most  attentive  attitude,  while  the  young  man,  clearing  his 
voice,  and  leaning  forward,  commenced  his  story.  "  When 
I  was  very  young,  my  father  died.  Mother  had  two  children, 
my  sister  Mary  and  myself.  My  sister  was  several  years 


KATE    WESTON.  221 

older  than  I.  We  almost  worshiped  her,  she  was  so  good,  so 
gentle,  so  beautiful.  I  think  mother  loved  her  best,  but  I  nevei 
thought  anything  of  that.  I  thought  she  ought  to  be  loved 
more.  She  seemed  to  forget  herself  always  when  those  she 
loved  were  in  trouble.  I  remember  when  I  was  a  mere  baby, 
she  would  lay  aside  her  book  to  tell  me  a  simple  story,  or  sing 
some  childish  song.  She  had  a  sweet  voice,  and  she  and 
mother  always  sang  together  from  the  earliest  period  I  can 

remember,  until Well,  I  shall  pass  over  all  the  period  of 

her  childhood,  and  begin  again  with  her  history  when  sister 
Mary  was  seventeen.  We  lived  in  a  pleasant  cottage  in  a 
New  England  village,  and  only  those  who  have  been  through 
New  England  can  know  how  pleasant  such  a  home  can  be. 

"  Mother,  our  gentle,  loving  mother,  devoted  her  time  to  our 
education  and  improvement.  Mary  more  than  repaid  her  for 
the  pains  she  took  in  bestowing  upon  her  both  the  useful  and 
ornamental  acquirements  necessary  to  a  first-class  education. 
I  believe  she  was  not  called  handsome,  that  is,  not  very  hand- 
some, although  to  my  memory  she  seems  a  being  of  surpas- 
sing beauty ;  but  every  one  accorded  to  her  the  palm  of  true 
womanly  gentleness,  and  unrivalled  genius.  That  sister," 
said  the  young  man  earnestly,  "  had  her  lot  been  cast  in  other 
places,  or  her  earnest  soul  been  fixed  upon  a  higher  love  than 
the  changing  ones  of  earth,  would  have  been  a  star  in  the 
night  of  life's  wretchedness  and  guilt,  guiding  many  through 
the  darkness,  to  a  land  where  there  is  need  of  neither  sun  nor 
moon,  nor  star  to  shine  in  it,  where  the  glory  of  God  doth 
lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof. 

"  When  Mary  was  seventeen,  Lester  Morris  first  visited  our 
village.  Young  Morris  was  partner  in  a  wholesale  business 
in  New  York,  not  talented,  but  a  man  of  fascinating  manners 
and  unexceptionable  morals. 

"  The  day  that  Mary  was  married  was  a  very  sorrowful  one 
to  me.  Never  brother  loved  sister  more  than  I,  and  never 
was  sister  worthier  of  love  than  my  darling  Mary.  It  seemed 


222  KATE    WESTON. 

to  me  as  though  her  going  to  New  York,  and  our  staying  in 
New  England,  was  the  bursting  asunder  of  my  very  heartstrings. 
She  tried  to  make  me  cheerful,  and,  although  I  cried  the 
whole  evening  of  the  wedding,  succeeded  before  she  left  in 
restoring  me  to  quite  a  tolerable  degree  of  comfort,  by  giving 
me  the  private  information  that  she  intended  to  make  mother 
bring  me  on  with  her  to  stay  at  least  a  month,  before  the 
year  was  out.  After  she  left,  mother  and  I  were  drawn  closer 
together.  I  think  I  must  have  been  unlike  other  boys,  for  I 
never  can  recollect  the  time  when  it  was  not  a  greater  plea- 
sure to  me  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  with  my  mother  and 
sister,  than  to  go  off  skating  on  the  pond,  or  joining  my 
boyish  associates  in  their  evening  rambles. 

"  Then  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  then  it  was  that  the 
glorious  plan  of  redemption  through  Jesus  was  unfolded  to 
my  spirit  Then  it  was  that  I  first  found  the  Rock  upon 
which  my  foot  stands  firm,  that  neither  storm  nor  tide  can 
beat  away. 

"  I  have  always  wondered  that  my  sister's  loving  heart  -was 
not  drawn  towards  that  faith  that  seemed  to  me  so  congenial 
to  her  taste  and  temper.  I  think  she  would  ultimately  have 
become  a  follower  of  Jesus  had  she  never  removed  from  our 
village,  but  I  suppose  her  impressible  nature  was  so  easily  and 
completely  assimilated  to  those  by  whom  she  was  immedi- 
ately surrounded,  that  her  earlier  teachings  were  either 
entirely  obliterated,  or  remembered  as  a  dream  in  after  years 
of  temptation  and  misery.  For  three  or  four  years  mother 
and  myself  came  to  spend  a  month  at  Christmas  with  her. 
She  was  very  happy  then.  Two  lovely  children  and  an  affec- 
tionate, whole-hearted  husband  were  sufficient  treasures  for 
her. 

"  Lester  Morris  failed  in  business  about  three  years  after  their 
marriage,  but  they  took  it  to  heart  less  than  any  one  I  ever 
saw.  Mary  chirruped  just  as  gaily,  and  stepped  just  as  lightly 
in  the  humbler  home  to  which  they  quietly  retired,  as  in  the 


KATE    WESTON.  223 

more  luxurious  one  of  their  days  of  affluence,  and  Lester 
seemed  too  much  delighted  in  the  possession  of  such  a  wife 
and  children,  to  let  money  make  or  break  his  happiness. 

"  At  last  mother  was  not  able  to  leave  home  any  more,  and 
Mary  used  to  come  to  visit  her.  The  first  time  her  husband 
was  with  her ;  the  next  she  told  us  that  his  business  was  too 
pressing  to  allow  him  to  leave  it ;  but  there  was  something 
in  her  manners  that  struck  me  as  singular.  Her  cheek  was 
paler  and  thinner  than  I  had  ever  seen  it  before.  She  would 
sit  sometimes,  when  she  didn't  know  I  was  watching  her,  gaz- 
ing abstractedly  into  the  fire,  without  paying  the  slightest 
attention  to  the  children  playing  beside  her ;  and  once  when 
I  had  gone  up  to  her  room  to  see  if  little  Arthur  were  asleep, 
she  entered  in  the  dark,  threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  and 
burst  into  tears.  I  spoke  to  her,  begging  her  to  tell  me  her 
sorrow  that  I  might  sympathize  with  her,  but  she  said  she 
was  not  well,  she  would  soon  be  better,  that  I  must  not  worry 
mother  by  telling  her,  she  was  too  weak  to  bear  it.  So  it  went 
on  until  she  left  us. 

"The  next  year  she  did  not  come;  she  was  too  much 
engaged,  she  said;  'Lester  had  failed  again,  and  they  must 
move  into  a  still  smaller  place.  He  had  not  been  well  lately. 
Arthur,  too,  was  quite  miserable,  but  she  was  hoping  they 
would  all  be  better  soon.' 

"Soon  after  that,  we  had  a  letter  saying  that  Arthur's 
illness  had  terminated  in  consumption,  which,  the  previous 
week  had  lain  him  in  the  grave. 

"Not  quite  three  weeks  passed,  during  which  we  had  received 
no  word  from  Mary,  when  mother  and  I  were  seated  one 
afternoon  upon  the  little  bench  before  our  cottage  door.  She 
was  very  feeble  now,  so  that  she  was  unable  to  walk  further 
than  to  the  end  of  our  small  garden,  and  it  was  one  of  her 
greatest  pleasures  to  sit  on  that  rustic  bench,  amid  the  fra- 
grance of  her  flowers,  and  talk  to  me  of  those  things  nearest 
her  heart — Mary  and  Heaven.  Dear  mother !  when  she  was 


224  KATE    WESTON. 

dying  she  said  to  me  in  tones  broken  with  the  feebleness  of 
her  last  breathings.  '  Arthur,  never  make  an  earthly  idol.  I 
have  always  thought  of  Mary  and  Heaven,  -when  I  should 
have  thought  of  Heaven  and  Mary.'  "  Here  the  narrator  broke 
quite  down,  the  tears  rushing  into  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  chok- 
ing with  emotion.  Mr.  Pufton  had  remained  surprised  for 
some  time,  but  now  he  had  forgotten  his  surprise  in  the 
interest  of  the  story. 

"  As  I  told  you,"  he  commenced  at  length,  "  we  were  sitting 
before  our  door  on  a  pleasant  summer  afternoon,  when  Mr. 
Wood,  the  principal  merchant  of  our  village,  entered  the  gate. 
He  was  a  thoughtless  man,  although  by  no  means  hard-hearted. 
We  knew  that  he  had  been  to  New  York  for  his  fall  supply 
of  goods,  but  did  not  suppose  that  'he  had  seen  Mary.  I 
rose  to  welcome  him,  and  noticed  that  his  countenance  wore 
an  expression  of  pity  and  sorrow  that  quite  puzzled  me.  He 
returned  my  salutation,  and  passed  on  to  mother,  saying,  "  I 
took  the  opportunity  of  calling,  dear  Mrs.  Leslie,  to  offer  you 
my  warmest  sympathy  in  your  great  affliction.  If  anything  I 
can  do,  by  way  of  settling  your  daughter's  affairs,  will  be  of 
any  service  to  you,  I  shall  esteem  it  a  sacred  pleasure  to  be 
always  at  your  service.' 

"  Mother  sat  for  one  minute  looking  at  him,  as  though  she 
did  not  quite  understand  his  words.  Then  suddenly  clenching 
the  arm  of  her  chair,  she  cried,  under  her  breath  '  Affliction  ? 
My  daughter's  affairs  ?  What  has  happened  ?  tell  me  !' 

"  Mr.  Wood  looked  surprised  and  alarmed.  I  saw  that  he 
•was  sorry  for  what  he  had  said,  but  there  was  now  no  alterna- 
tive for  him  but  to  proceed.  '  Is  it  possible,'  he  said  ner- 
vously, '  that  you  have  not  heard  from  Mrs.  Morris  during  the 
last  two  weeks  ?'  Mother  did  not  answer  him,  only  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  his  face,  while  her  lips  moved  with  hardly  a 
sound,  '  tell  me.'  '  You  know  that  after  Morris's  last  failure  he 
opened  a  porter-house  in  the  city  in  partnership  with  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Gamp.  One  night  about  two  weeks  ago,  they 


KATE    WESTON.  225 

• 

had  some  disagreement  or  other  which  terminated  in  Gamp's 
stabbing  him  with  a  bowie-knife.'  The  gentleman  stopped 
speaking,  for  he  saw  mother's  eyes  dilate,  and  her  face  turn 
ashy  pale.  It  was  all  new  to  her.  Lester  Morris  keeping  a 
porter-house  !  Her  daughter  a  widow ! 

"I  afterwards  learned  from  Mr.  Wood  the  particulars  relating 
to  the  course  of  Lester  Morris  for  the  year  before  his  death. 
The  cause  of  his  last  failure  had  been  carefully  concealed  from 
us  by  his  devoted  wife,  who  had  kept  hoping  for  his  reform  up 
to  the  day  of  his  death.  He  had  always  indulged  in  wine,  as 
all  of  us  did  then,  indeed,  and  at  last  the  taste  he  had  acquired 
proved  too  strong  for  him.  His  frequent  intoxication  had  ren- 
dered him  neglectful  of  business,  he  had  failed,  and  taking 
Mary's  little  property,  had  been  induced,  in  a  fit  of  intoxica- 
tion, to  sign  the  articles  of  copartnership  with  a  man  whom 
he  both  despised  and  hated.  By  this  means  his  murderer 
had  succeeded  in  investing  all  that  remained  to  them  in  his 
detestable  business,  and  through  his  canning  and  artifice, 
Mary  never  received  any  afterwards. 

"  When  my  mother  had  recovered  from  the  first  shock  of 
those  sorrowful  tidings,  she  dispatched  me  immediately  to 
New  York.  Feeble  as  she  was,  she  would  have  accompanied 
me,  had  not  the  family  physician  laid  a  decided  veto  upon  any 
such  proceeding.  I  found  Mary  very  ill  of  a  fever,  in  the  care 
of  strangers  in  a  condition  of  life  far  below  her  own.  As  soon 
as  she  was  able,  she  started  with  me  for  home,  taking  with  her 
her  little  Margaret,  and  traveling  slowly  on  account  of  her 
health.  For  a  time  she  found  rest  in  a  mother's  bosom,  and 
grew  less  pale  and  sorrowful.  Would  that  she  had  always 
been  content  to  depend  upon  her  scanty  fortune,  rather  than 
to  leave  her  side.  But  in  two  or  three  months,  a  letter  came 
from  the  city  offering  her  a  situation  as  teacher  in  an  excellent 
school,  which  she  at  length  accepted,  not  without  many  tears 
and  struggles,  but  still  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
depriving  us  of  the  comforts  to  which  we  had  always  been 


226  KATE    WESTON. 

* 

accustomed.  I  knew  that  by  constant  application,  I  could,  in 
a  year  or  t;vro,  render  myself  capable  of  earning  enough  to 
make  it  unnecessary  for  her  to  leave  home,  and  looked  for- 
ward joyfully  to  the  time  when  she  should  return  to  us. 

"  But  she  never  came  again  !  For  a  year  we  heard  from  her 
regularly;  then  her  letters  began  to  be  fewer  and  briefer. 
She  was  intending  to  give  up  her  situation,  and  take  that  of 
governess  in  the  family  of  a  widower  who  had  only  one  child. 
It  was  an  easy  situation,  and  she  had  known  the  gentleman, 
whose  name  she  omitted  to  mention,  slightly  for  many  years. 
After  that  it  was  a  long  time  before  we  heard  from  her  again, 
.  so  long,  that  I  was  about  starting  to  New  York  in  search  of 
her,  when  we  received  another  letter ;  shall  I  ever  forget  that 
letter  ?  that  in  less  than  a  month  brought  my  mother  to  the 
grave.  It  told  us  never  to  think  of  her  again  ;  to  look  upon 
her  as  dead  ;  to  blot  her  image  from  our  memory.  She  had 
been  betrayed  by  a  mock  marriage,  ruined  by  one  whom  she 
had  trusted,  and  had  resolved  never  to  bring  her  shame  upon 
us.  She  would  take  means  to  have  her  child  placed  in  mother's 
care ;  she  knew  her  mother  would  not  refuse  her  that ;  for  her- 
self, she  asked  nothing  but  forgiveness  and  oblivion.  We 
must  not  seek  her  ;  she  was  hidden  where  it  would  be  utterly 
impossible  for  us  to  find  her,  only  take  Maggie  and  forget  her ! 
as  though  we  could  forget ! 

"  Notwithstanding  her  warning,  I  was  dispatched  imme- 
diately in  search  of  her,  commissioned  by  a  weeping  mother 
to  bring  her  back  to  the  shelter  of  a  mother's  tenderness 
before  further  injury  had  come  upon  her.  My  mother  did  not 
look  upon  the  evil  that  had  befallen  her  with  the  eye  of  a 
worldly  person.  She  saw  in  it  only  a  misfortune  which  must 
only  increase  her  love,  not  steel  her  heart  against  one  who 
had  been  deceived  into  a  state  contemned  by  the  world,  no  mat- 
ter by  what  means  procured,  or  what  suffering  it  might  pro- 
duce. But  I  could  not  find  her,  nor  obtain  any.  clue  to  her 
whatever.  After  three  weeks  spent  in  useless  labor,  I  re- 


KATE    WESTON.  227 

turned  to  see  my  mother  die,  and  receive  her  parting 
blessing. 

"  Since  then  I  have  striven  in  vain  to  find  her.  At  one 
time .  I  succeeded  in  discovering  that  she  was  still  living, 
but  soon  after  I  ascertained  that  she  had  sailed  for  Australia, 
and  gave  up  the  search  with  deep  sorrow  of  heart.  If 
mother  had  lived,  I  believe  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
her  to  keep  her  resolution  of  never  again  seeing  her,  for  the 
time  must  have  come  when  she  would  have  forgotten  all 
pride  and  fear,  and  flown  to  one  whom,  she  knew  nothing  on 
earth  could  wean  from  her.  I  always  thought  she  must  have 
heard  of  mother's  death,  because  she  never  sent  Maggie  to  us, 
as  she  had  proposed. 

"  You  will  not  be  surprised  at  my  determination  on  this  point 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  believe  the  death  of  my  sister's  husband, 
my  sister's  ruin,  and  my  mother's  death,  were  caused  solely  by 
intoxicating  drinks.  I  believe  that  any  man  who  sells  liquor 
is  virtually  sending  crowds  annually  to  ruin  and  death,  whose 
number  is  proportioned  to  the  extent  of  his  business." 

"  Bless  my  heart,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  rubbing  his  eyes 
with  his  coat-sleeve,  "  I'd  give  it  up  in  a  minute,  sir,  if  every- 
body else  would,  but,  the  trouble  is,  other  folks  won't  give  it 
up,  sir ;  and  folks  will  have  it,  sir ;  what  odds,  sir,  whether 
they  get  it,  sir,  from  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry,  sir,  or  from  Edward 
Pufton,  Esq.,  sir,  who  wouldn't  mind  at  all  throwing  away  all 
his  stock,  sir,  if  that  would  knock  up  all  the  rum-drinking,  sir ; 
not  a  bit,  sir ;  'pon  my  word,  not  a  bit,  sir." 

"Well,"  remarked  his  young  companion,  glancing  at  his 
watch,  "  I  have  an  engagement  at  eight  o'clock ;  I  think  you 
said  you  were  going  as  far  as  Broadway  and  Canal  street. 
Will  you  accompany  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir — delighted  sir — detest  walking  alone  abom- 
inably, sir.  Patrick !"  A  short,  sleepy-looking  Irishman 
made  his  appearance  from  some  invisible  corner,  and  Mr. 
Pufton,  after  leaving  directions  as  to  closing  the  store,  and 


228  KATE    WESTON.  • 

stumping  about  at  a  terribe  rate  for  some  five  minutes,  patted 
his  liat  upon  his  head,  and  made  for  the  door,  saying  as  he 
looted  complacently  behind  him,  "  All  right,  sir,  quite  right, 
sir.  Everything  in  order,  sir." 

"I  think,"  remarked  young  Byng,  as  soon  as  they  had 
gained  the  street,  "  you  said  you  would  give  up  the  business  if 
every  one  else  would  do  the  same  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  I  would,  sir.     Mighty  glad  too,  sir." 

"  If  all  the  rumsellers  in  the  city  sell  poison,  is  that  a  rea- 
son why  you  should  do  it  too  ?" 

Mr.  Pufton  did  not  answer  this  question,  but  it  evidently 
was  a  somewhat  different  view  of  the  matter  from  any  that 
he  had  yet  taken,  for  he  cocked  his  head  first  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other,  looking  very  intensely  at  the  gas-lights, 
and  ahem-ing  to  himself  for  the  space  of  two  or  three  blocks, 
without  being  at  all  noticed  by  his  companion. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  their  way  lay  through  an  unplea- 
sant section  of  the  city.  As  they  turned  the  corner  of  Centre 
street,  a  female  figure,  wretchedly  attired,  passed  them.  "What 
a  dismal  frown  that  always  wears,"  said  joung  Byng,  pointing 
to  the  dreary  city  prison  looming  up  a  block  or  two  before 
them.  As  he  spoke,  the  figure  which  had  just  passed  them, 
turned  quickly  round,  and  stood  for  an  instant  motionless, 
then,  with  a  noiseless  tread,  followed  close  behind  them,  so 
near  that  every  word  they  said  was  audible  to  their  pursuer. 
The  figure  was  enveloped  in  a  large,  faded  cloak ;  the  face,  as 
she  turned  to  look  at  the  two  gentlemen,  for  an  instant  caught 
the  rays  of  light,  that  should  have  faded  out  in  shining  upon 
a  face  so  haggard  and  wretched.  But  as  she  turned,  she  drew 
down  a  thick  vail  that  concealed  her  from  idle  scrutiny.  So 
they  passed  on,  the  man  buoyant  with  youth  and  hope,  for  a 
moment  saddened  by  bitter  memories — the  man  wealthy, 
warm-hearted,  but  unthinking,  striving  to  reconcile  awakened 
conscience  to  a  lawful  evil — the  woman  with  unsteady  step, 
and  hidden  features,  thinking — but  who  may  read  that  heart 


RATE    WESTON.  229 

of  hearts  ?  who  may  tell  what  whirlwinds  of  feeling  might  be 
sweeping  across  the  bleak  desert  of  that  shrouded  woman's 
soul  ?  who  amid  the  foul  darkness  lying  all  along  that  wretched 
life,  might  see  with  her  the  sunlight  and  flowers  of  a  youth  of 
purity  ?  who  amid  the  clamor  of  fierce  remorse  and  dissonant 
passion  battling  in  that  guilty  breast,  could  hear  with  her  the 
blessings  and  the  prayers  whose  distant  music  was  for  ever 
floating  to  her  ear,  making  only  sadder  the  knell  of  her  des- 
pair? 

They  passed  on  into  the  shadow  of  the  prison,  the  woman 
listening  intently  to  their  conversation." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pufton,  "  after  what  you  have  told  me, 
I  certainly  can't  blame  you  for  not  entering  the  business,  and, 
fact  is,  sir,  I've  a  rnind  to  give  up  myself.  So  I  have,  sir. 
Had  a  mind  to,  the  day  I  saw  Ryker's  wife  and  child,  sir. 
Don't  know  though,  if  it'd  do  a  bit  o'  good,  that's  the  worst 
of  it,  sir." 

"  Suppose  half  the  liquor-dealers  in  the  city  closed  up  busi- 
ness, do  you  suppose  there'd  be  as  many  drunkards  as  there 
are  ?"  asked  Byng  quietly. 

"  Well,  no  sir.  By  no  means,  sir.  Can't  say  I  think  so, 
sir.  See  exactly  what  you  want  to  say,  sir.  Needn't  say  it. 
I  understand,  sir.  You  put  the  question  in  such  a  queer  way, 
Bless  me,  sir,  I  see,  I  see !"  And  Mr.  Pufton  threw  back  his 
head  and  rubbed  his  hands  together,  as  though  it  quite  aston- 
ished him  that  he  did  see.  "  Believe  I  will  give  up  now,  sir, 
Do  believe  I  will." 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  answered  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  full 
of  feeling,  "  I  can  assure  you  that  it  would  give  me  far  more 
pleasure  to  see  you  resign  the  business  entirely,  than  it  would 
give  you  to  see  me  making  $10,000  a  year  in  Mr.  Dunn's 
warehouse."  Here  the  silent  figure  behind  them  caught  her 
cloak  closer  around  her  with  a  sudden  twitch,  and  pressed 
a  little  nearer.  "You  must  pardon  me,"  continued  Byng, 
"  for  speaking  with,  so  little  reserve,  I  feel  it  my  duty,  and 


230  KATE   WESTON. 

my  friendship  for  you  is  an  additional  motive  for  my  endea- 
vors." 

"  Bless  you,  sir !"  cried  Mr.  Pufton,  "  no  apology ;  I  honor 
you  for  it,  sir, — I  love  you  for  it,  sir — I  always  love  nobility, 
sir,  wherever  I  find  it,  sir — I  adore  nobility,  sir,  I  do  now, 
sir,  shake  hands,  sir,  to  prove  that  I  adore  nobility,  sir." 

"  I  have  often  thought  that  you  would  give  up  this  traf- 
fic, if  you  had  any  idea  of  its  results,"* said  his  companion. 
"Although  the  history  of  my  brother-in-law  furnishes  less 
direct  evidence  of  the  evils  of  liquor-dealing  than  many  I 
could  name ;  there  is  to  my  mind  no  question,  that  all  our 
subsequent  family  affliction  was  traceable  to  the  influence 
exerted  over  Lester  Morris  by  the  unprincipled  man  who  des- 
troyed him,  strengthened  by  the  example  of  men  like  you, 
honored  and  praiseworthy  in  other  respects,  but  sadly  mis- 
taken on  that  particular  point." 

"And  wasn't  that  villain  punished?"  asked  Mr.  Pufton. 
"  He  deserved  the  State's  Prison  for  life,  at  the  very  least." 

" No"  answered  Byng,  " he  was  never  punished.  He  had 
powerful  advocates  to  defend  his  act,  and,  although  the  proofs 
were  all  against  him,  he  succeeded  in  wresting  the  law  to  his 
own  purposes,  so  as  to  escape  its  sentence  upon  his  sin.  From 
an  ambiguous  sentence  in  that  last  fatal  letter,  I  gathered  that 
he  was  in  some  way  connected  with  her  betrayer,  or  at  least 
that  she  suspected  so.  Poor,  dear  Mary !  God  bless  her !" 

The  two  men  passed  on,  but  the  shrouded  woman  staggered 
for  a  moment,  made  two  or  three  headlong  steps  as  though 
striving  to  walk  on,  then,  stopped  still,  and  clutched  convul- 
sively at  the  iron  railing  beside  her.  She  threw  back  her 
vail,  and  gazed  eagerly  after  the  receding  figures.  But  she 
was  powerless  to  follow — scarcely  strong  enough  to  keep  her- 
self from  falling,  even  with  both  hands  clinging  fast  to  the 
railing.  The  great  stone-walls  threw  down  their  ominous 
shadow.  Walls  within  which  human  guilt  and  misery  must 
always  have  its  dwelling ;  walls  strong  and  mighty,  the  ram- 


KATE    WESTON.  231 

parts  of  the  drunkard's  palace,  to  attain  which,  he  treads  step 
by  step  through  paths  more  rugged  than  the  Alpine  cliffs 
scaled  by  the  fearless  Hannibal. — Trampling  out  purity,  vir- 
tue, love,  hope  and  often  life  itself  in  the  furious  progress. 
Walls  at  whose  base  are  gathered  poverty,  disease,  and  suf- 
fering in  every  shape,  and  under  every  guise.  Their  black 
shadow  falls  upon  the  walk  below.  The  filth  gathered  in  the 
street  looks  filthier  here.  The  foul  offensive  stream  coursing 
through  the  gutters  is  more  offensive  here.  The  old,  dismal 
abodes  opposite,  although  hundreds  like  them  offend  the  eye 
in  that  portion  of  our  city,  seem  older  and  more  dismal  here. 
The  sounds  of  drunken  revelry,  the  hoarse  laugh,  the  bitter 
curse  mingle  in  fiercer  discords  here. 

And  yet  we  know  that  one  single  cause  produces  all.  We 
know  that  were  that  cause  removed,  nine  out  every  ten  of 
those  murderers,  felons,  and  blasphemers  would  be  trans- 
formed into  tender  fathers,  husbands,  sons,  and  peaceable 
citizens.  We  know  this,  and  yet  we  put  our  hands  idly  in 
our  pockets,  and  quibble  about  expediency  and  constitution- 
ality. Let  men  go  on,  and  swear,  and  steal,  and  murder,  break 
up  your  ballot-boxes,  and  carry  your  elections !  It  may  not 
be  expedient,  may  not  be  constitutional!  Verily,  Man  is  a 
Eiddle. 

For  some  minutes  the  woman  stood  there  alone,  for  the 
street  was  deserted  now.  Now  bending  her  hfed  down  to 
the  railing,  now  tossing  it  wildly  back,  now  crying  to  herself 
in  bitterness  of  soul.  "  God  bless  her !  too  late,  too  late ! 
Lost,  lost,  lost !  My  child,  my  child.  Husband, — mother, — 
brother." — At  last  a  group  of  men  came  clamoring  around 
the  corner,  and  the  woman,  letting  go  her  hold,  again  drew 
her  cloak  and  vail  about  her,  and  tottered  away.  But  there 
is  a  refuge  for  such  as  she.  Not  in  the  bosom  of  compas- 
sionate piety,  not  in  the  ark  of  Christian  charity,  but  in  the 
lethean  cup  that  maddens  while  it  soothes.  She  passed  on  to 


232  KATE    WESTON. 

a  low  comer,  where  only  two  or  three  men  and  women  were 
talking  and  laughing  together. 

As  she  entered,  and  advanced  to  the  counter,  one  of  the 
women  caught  hold  of  her  cloak.  "  Back  aready,  eh  ?  what 
have  you  been  a  doing  ?  what  are  you  a  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Do  ?"  cried  she,  flinging  back  her  vail  and  letting  her  eyes 
fall  with  a  proud  scorn  upon  the  questioner.  "Do?  just  what 
you  would  do — drink !  Drink !  it's  all  I  can  do  now." 

"You  han't  done  nothin'  else  this  many  a  long  day," 
answered  the  woman  doggedly.  "Just  please  speak  a  bit 
more  civil.  You  aren't  better  nor  us,  that  you  need  be  put- 
ting on  such  mighty  fine  airs.  Don't  be  proud  o'  your 
learnin'." 

"  Proud !"  echoed  her  companion.  "  Proud  of  crime  and 
pollution,  proud  of  filth  and  rags ;  proud  of  the  company  of 
such  as  you  ?  No !  there's  nothing  left  me  now  but  drink ; 
then  give  it  me,  or  I  die,"  and  staggering  to  the  counter,  she 
lifted  to  her  burning  lips  the  portion  that  was  at  once  her 
solace  and  her  ruin. 

"  Oh,  she's  more  than  half-crazy,  Mag !"  cried  one  of  the 
men  with  an  oath.  "  Don't  notice  her ;  she'll  get  round  after 
a  while.  She  don't  generally  have  no  such  carryings  on  at 
night.  Its  pretty  much  always  she's  worse  in  the  day ;  only 
she  shuts  up  then.  Let  her  drink  it  off." 

Drink  off  what  ?  Life — body — soul — to  death  and  eternal 
ruin ! 


"<  >1>,  she's  more  than  half-crazy,  Mag  !"  cried  one  of  the  men  with  an  oath  "  Don't 
lotice  her:  she'll  get  round  after  a  while.  She  don't  generally  have  no  such  can-vines 
on  at  night.  Its  pretty  much  always  she's  worse  in  the  dav:  onlv  she  shuts  up  then- 
Let  her  drink  it  oft'." 

Drink  off  what?    Life— Imdy— soul— to  death  and  eternal  ruin  !  P.  232. 


KATE   WE8TON.  233 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 

"  EVERYTHING'S  ready  for  to-niglit  now.  But  I  must  have 
some  of  those  handsome  new  decanters  up — Billy,  here." 

The  boy  emerged  from  behind  the  screen,  and  approached 
his  master.  There  was  a  something  of  elasticity  in  his 
motion,  and  a  decided  improvement  in  his  general  appearance 
since  we  last  saw  him,  and  his  eye  neither  fell  before  the  gaze 
of  his  companion,  nor  did  his  voice  quiver  as  it  had  been 
wont  to  do  when  he  answered  him.  "  Well,  sir,  what  are 
your  orders." 

There  was  a  peculiar  expression  of  inquiry  upon  the  face 
of  the  rumseller  as  he  glanced  at  the  boy,  not  unmingled 
with  vexation  at  his  apparent  unconcern.  "  How  now, 
sirrah  !"  he  cried.  "  You're  mighty  bold  lately.  Go  and  fix 
yourself  for  night,  and  open  those  oysters  that  came  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  hark'ee,  let  me  see  any  of  your  airs,  and  I'll 
beat  you  again,  I'll  beat  the  breath  out  of  your  body." 

A  little  of  the  old  crouching  look  was  on  the  boy  now, 
and  his  eyes  fell,  but  with  a  sudden  and  quite  apparent  effort, 
turning  very  red  in  the  face,  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  do  as 
you  ordered  me,  sir.  I  am  going  to  leave  to-day." 

Gamp  started  back  a  step  or  two,  with  his  diabolical  eyes 
staring  wide  open  upon  the  venturous  youth,  stood  for  a 
minute  swelling  with  anger  and  surprise,  then,  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  passion,  cried,  "  Fool !  to  leave  me  ?  am  I  not 
your  uncle?  your  lawful  guardian?  know  that  you  cannot 
leave  me.  I  would  keep  you  if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of 
humbling  you.  Pray  what  would  you  do  ?  A  fine  man  you 


234  KATE    WESTON. 

to  walk  out  into  the  world.  Perhaps,"  he  added,  his  tone 
relapsing  into  scorn,  "  you  might  make  a  second  Franklin  or 
Fulton,  who  knows  ?" 

The  boy,  quite  excited,  but  determined  in  bis  heart,  spoke 
again,  but  now  with  a  quivering  voice.  "  I  can  do  something. 
I  have  hands  and  I  can  work.  I  never  believed  that  you 
were  my  uncle,  and  I  am  determined  upon  leaving  at  any 
rate ;  you  can  follow  me  with  the  law,  if  you  choose.  But  I 
hate  the  business,  and  I'll  never  have  anything  to  do  with  it 
again,  unless  I  am  forced  into  it,  and  that  I  never  shall  be." 

"  Villain !"  cried  Gamp,  "  that  blustering  Clarence  has  put 
you  up  to  this.  I'll  give  you  a  lesson !"  and  rushing  towards 
him  he  levelled  a  blow  at  the  slender  youth  that  brought  him 
upon  the  floor. 

"  Dat  ere  an't  fair  play,  noways,"  said  lame  Joe,  striding 
with  a  hobble  in  at  the  door  and  up  to  the  fallen  boy.  "  I 
nebber  could  remagine  dat  dat  ere  was  fair  play  now." 

The  poor  fellow  got  up ;  Gamp  paid  no  attention  what- 
ever, to  the  intruder,  glowering  still  upon  the  boy.  "  You'll 
leave  me  now,  will  you?  You  see  there  are  more  ways 
than  one  to  keep  you.  I  guess  you've  found  out  you  can't 
leave  me,  eh  ?" 

"  But  I  will  leave  you,"  he  answered,  resolutely,  drawing  a 
little  nearer  Joe,  perhaps  a  little  more  resolutely,  for  standing 
in  his  shadow.  "  Nothing  on  earth  shall  keep  me." 

Gamp  doubled  both  fists,  and  made  a  dive  at  him,  but 
Joe  interposed  his  burly  form,  and  calmly  squaring  himself 
and  doubling  his -own  fists,  remarked  pleasantly.  '"Pears 
now,  dis  yer  nigger's  a  better  match  for  yer.  Sakes  alive, 
you'd  comboberlate  dat  nutshell  ob  a  feller  afore  I'd  say  boo 
to  a  grasshopper." 

Gamp  scowled  fiercely  at  him,  and  made  a  desperate  rush 
at  the  boy.  Joe  lifted  one  brawny  arm  between  them,  and 
taking  Billy's  entire  shoulder  in  his  huge  hand  pushed,  or 
rather  lifted  him  towards  the  door,  saying,  "  Jest  clar  out  dar 


KATE   WESTON.  235 

ef  yer  wants  to  get  away.  Laws  a-massy,  yer  an't  no  'count 
long  side  o'  dat  ere  big  feller.  Clar  out  wid  yer."  The  boy 
started,  but  his  master,  whose  passion  had  overcome  his  cun- 
ning, bounded  upon  him,  and  inflicted  a  severer  blow  than 
before,  that  sent  him  again  reeling  to  the  floor.  It  was  too 
much  for  Joe.  He  shouted  to  the  boy,  "  Clar  out  wid  yer, 
can't  yer,"  at  the  same  time  seizing  the  back  of  his  perse- 
cutor's coat  collar  in  his  Herculean  grasp,  and  belaboring 
him  soundly  over  the  shoulders,  accompanying  the  exercise 
with  varied  expressions  of  his  opinion.  "  An't  yer  'shamed 
now,  to  be  beatin'  dat  mimiky  arter  such  a  fashion.  Dat's 
worse  dan  dis  yer  nigger'd  do,  now.  Dat's  what  I  call  real 
mean,  any  ways.  Get  away,  Billy,  an'  don't  yer  nebber  come 
back  agin.  'Tain't  no  place  for  yer.  Clar  out  away  to  New 
York,  whar  yer  might  make  a  bigger  man  dan  mas'r  yet. 
Hold  on  dar,  don't  yer  be  a  kickin'  an  a  swearin'  so,  or  I'll 
hab  to  hit  yer  harder.  I  han't  got  nuffin  agin  yer,  only  I 
can't  stan'  it,  noways,  to  see  dat  poor  chap  so  kinder  knocked 
all  of  a  heap  togedder.  I'll  leab  go  o'  yer,  soon's  he's  safe 
off,  only  jest  keep  still,  an  don't  cut  up  so  hicombobflori- 
ous,  or  I'll  hab  to  hurt  yer." 

While  the  man  struggled  to  free  himself,  foaming  with 
passion,  and  glaring  like  a  demon  alternately  upon  his  escap- 
ing victim  and  his  resolute  tormentor,  and  while  the  more 
powerful  form  of  the  stalwart  negro  stood  holding  him  fast, 
with  as  little  apparent  effort  as  a  mother  would  have  caressed 
her  babe,  the  slave  of  that  man's  will  passed  from  his  control 
for  ever. 

The  boy  cast  no  lingering  look  behind,  but  flew  along  the 
road  in  the  direction  of  Edward  Clarence's  office,  with  a  speed 
lent  by  terror,  for  now  he  had  declared  his  resolution  and 
received  such  a  decisive  answer,  he  feared  more  than  ever 
falling  again  into  the  power  of  his  master.  When  he  reached 
the  door,  panting  and  excited,  he  could  hardly  summon 


236  KATE    WESTON. 

breath  to  speak.  ''Billy,"  cried  the  young  physician,  "what 
is  the  matter  ?  Why  have  you  been  running  so  ?" 

As  soon  as  he  could,  the  boy  related  his  interview  with 
Gamp,  and  Joe's  interposition,  concluding  with  the  entreaty 
that  Edward  would  assist  him.  "  Assist  you,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  assistance  do  you  want  now  ?  You  are  seventeen 
years  old,  and  strong  enough,  and  healthy  enough  to  assist 
yourself.  No,"  he  added,  laughing,  "  if  I  assist  you  I  shall 
have  to  take  you  through  a  course  of  physic,  that's  the  assist- 
ance I  render,  you  know..  Thanks  to  lame  Joe,  you're  safe 
away  for  this  time,  and  if  you  ever  get  back  again,  it'll  be 
your  own  fault.  All  the  assistance  you  want  is  a  little  exer- 
cise in  God's  free  air,  with  a  free  sky  above  you  and  a  free 
soul  in  you.  Why,  I'd  cleave  out  my  fortune  without  a 
penny  in  the  world." 

"  But  I'm  not  like  you,"  said  the  boy,  looking  first  at  the 
buoyant  figure  of  his  companion,  then  deprecatingly  at  his 
own  lank  arms  and  bony  fingers.  "  I  shall  never  be  like  you." 

"  Nonsense  !"  answered  Edward,  in  a  tone  that  might  have 
infused  hope  into  the  very  bosom  of  despair.  "You  are  a 
man  now,  Will,  you've  got  the  right  use  of  your  own  hands, 
your  own  limbs,  and  your  own  head.  Don't  be  chicken- 
hearted.  Faint  heart  never  Avon  fair  lady,  you  know,  nor  fair 
anything  else.  Make  your  own  way  now,  dash  into  the  busi- 
ness desperately ;  you  remember  the  noblest  man  on  earth  is 
the  self-made  man." 

"  Where  shall  I  start  ?"  asked  Billy,  less  despondingly,  but 
still  a  little  doubtful.  "  What  shall  I  do  first  ?" 

"  Start  for  New  York,  to-night.  When  you  get  there  do 
something.  Try  to  find  a  place  as  porter,  or  errand  boy,  and 
if  you  can't  do  that,  split  wood,  or  shovel  coal,  or  do  any- 
thing. I  know  you've  talent,  and  if  you  go  to  work  in 
earnest,  you'll  get  to  the  top  of  the  ladder  after  a  while,  my 
word  for  it." 


KATE    WESTON.  237 

There  was  something  so  cheerful  and  inspiriting  in  the 
manly  voice  and  manner,  that  Billy  couldn't  help  catching  a 
portion  of  his  enthusiasm.  "  And  when  does  the  boat  leave 
Newburgh  ?"  he  asked.  "  Can  I  get  there  to-night  ?  But  I've 
no  money,"  he  added,  with  a  blank  dismay  upon  his  face  at 
the  sudden  recollection.  "  I  shall  have  to  go  afoot." 

"  Good !  capital ! "  shouted  Edward,  bringing  down  his 
hand  with  an  encouraging  slap  upon  Billy's  shoulder.  "  That's 
the  spirit,  my  boy.  If  you  can't  ride,  walk.  If  you  can't  do 
great  things,  do  little  things.  If  you  can't  live  well,  live 
poorly.  Constant  effort'll  bring  everything  right  after  a  while. 
But  I  won't  let  you  go  quite  penniless.  Here's  a  five  dollar 
bill ;  one  dollar  will  take  you  to  New  York.  -When  you  go 
there,  you  must  go  to  some  plain,  respectable  mechanics' 
boarding-house,  in  an  entirely  different  part  of  the  city  from 
where  your  porter-house  was  formerly  located,  so  as  to  avoid, 
if  possible,  ever  meeting  your  master  again.  I  don't  mean 
that  you  need  be  afraid  to  meet  him,  for  he  has  no  power 
over  you,  and  you  must  always  stand  your  own  ground  now, 
but  he  might  annoy  you  if  he  knew  where  you  were.  Then 
you  must  use  your  money  to  pay  your  board,  and  for  nothing 
else.  You'll  find  something  to  do.  I  needn't  tell  you  to  avoid 
such  places  as  that  you  have  just  left,  but  you  must  keep 
your  wits  about  you,  and  look  out  you  don't  get  taken 
in." 

"  The  doctor  is  wanted  directly,"  said  a  red-headed  boy, 
opening  the  door.  "  Please,  sir,  mother's  taken  dreadful,  all 
of  a  sudden,  and  wants  to  see  you  right  off.  She  told  me 
not  to  come  back  without  you." 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  practitioner,  rising,  "  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  go  at  such  a  peremptory  summons.  Just  step 
out  there,  my  boy,  I'll  come  directly."  The  boy  did  as  he 
was  directed,  and  Edward,  taking  out  his  own  stout,  but  well- 
worn  purse,  handed  it  to  his  companion,  after  having 
removed  the  contents,  and  put  a  five  dollar  bill  in  the  end. 


238  KATE    TVESTON. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  take  care  of  it,  and  you'll  get  it  well-filled 
yet.  Be  a  good  boy,  go  to  church,  and  read  your  Bible. 
The  boat  doesn't  go  till  seven  o'clock  to-night.  It's  two 
now,  and  it  will  take  you  only  two  hours  to  walk  to  New- 
burgh.  There,  good-bye,  now,  don't  come  to  see  me  again  till 
you've  made  something  of  yourself,  only  write  to  me  often, 
and  don't  forget  me."  As  he  spoke,  he  seized  the  boy's  hand, 
gave  it  a  hearty  shake,  and  was  off  before  he  had  time  to 
answer. 

Billy  stood  with  the  purse  in  his  hand,  looking  after  the 
receding  figure.  The  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and  a  melan- 
choly smile  played  about  his  mouth  as  he  murmured,  "  For- 
get him !  I  haven't  so  many  friends  like  him,  that  I  can 
forget ;"  then  glancing  at  the  worn  purse,  he  added,  "  yes,  I 
will  never  come  back  until  I  am  different  from  now.  Hope 
and  Courage  !  I  need  them  both." 

When  Edward,  or  rather  Dr.  Clarence  (as  we  are  forced 
through  courtesy  to  call  him  now),  was  out  of  sight,  the  boy 
turned  away,  and  leaping  across  the  stile  at  the  corner,  took 
a  short  cut  across  the  fields  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Terry.  His 
heart  was  lighter  than  it  had  ever  been  before ;  the  very  air 
around  him  seemed  purer,  the  ground  he  trod  more  firm,  the 
sunshine  more  beautiful.  That  five  dollars  seemed  a  fortune 
to  him ;  but  the  cheering  words,  the  confident  anticipations, 
the  warm  interest  of  the  sanguine  young  doctor  had  done 
more  for  him  than  money  could  do.  For  the  first  time,  he 
actually  and  really  believed  himself  a  man,  capable  of  meet- 
ing the  contingencies  of  life,  and  joining  in  its  strug- 
gles. 

He  opened  the  gate  of  the  clergyman's  garden,  and  passed 
round  to  the  back  of  the  house.  Maggie  was  watering  her 
flowers.  When  she  saw  him,  she  stopped  still  with  the  little 
green  watering-pot  in  her  hand. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Will.  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  Have  you 
done  it?" 


KATE   WESTON.  239 

"  I've  done  it !  I've  done  it !  I'm  free  now,  and  I'll  do 
more.  I'm  free,  Maggie,  just  think  of  it !" 

The  little  girl  looked  surprised,  as  she  saw  him  actually  bound 
up  two  or  three  times  from  the  ground  with  a  true  boyish 
jump ;  a  minute  after  her  face  clouded.  "  Then  you  are 
going  away?  I'm  sorry  you  are  going  away.  But  you'll 
come  often,  won't  you,  to  see  us  ?  Can't  you  come  every 
Sunday  to  Church  and  Sabbath  School?" 

"  No,  Maggie,  I'm  going  away  to  be  gone  a  long  time,  but 
I  will  come  back  again  sometime.  I  am  going  to  work 
now." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  she,  still  looking  sor- 
rowful. , 

" To  work"  he  answered.  "  Work  anyhow,  or  anywhere ; 
but  I'm  determined  to  work.  Why,  I  feel  like  another  fellow 
now,  I'm  away  from  that  horrible  place." 

"  He  can't  get  you  back  again,  can  he  ?"  asked  Maggie, 
innocently. 

The  question  was  something  of  a  damper  upon  his  hopes, 
and  he  answered  with  a  shiver,  "  If  I  once  get  away  to-night,  I 
don't  think  he'll  ever  catch  me  again.  He's  an  awful  man, 
Maggie.  I  do  believe  he  would  have  killed  me  before  he 
would  let  me  go,  if  it  had  not  been  for  lame  Joe." 

"  What  did  lame  Joe  do  ?"  she  asked. 

Then  the  whole  story  of  Joe  and  the  doctor  had  to  be  told 
over  again,  interspersed  with  exclamations  and  comments 
from  Maggie,  and  expressions  of  gratitude  from  Billy. 

"  So  you  see,  Maggie,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  shall  have  to  be 
off  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  An't  you  going  to  get  ready  ?"  asked  Maggie. 

"  What  have  /  got  to  get  ready  ?  I  am  ready  to  go  to  the 
end  of  the  world.  But  I'm  not  ready  to  leave  you,  Maggie." 
Here  there  was  a  sudden  little  break  in  his  voice,  and  the 
listening  girl  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  love  you,  Will,  don't  go  away  from  me,"  she  sobbed. 


240  KATE    WESTON. 

"  You  are  just  like  me,  without  any  father  or  mother,  or 
brothers  or  sisters,  and  I  think  that's  what  makes  me  love 
you  better." 

The  boy  turned  away  his  head.  "  I  love  you,  too,  clearly, 
Maggie ;  but  you  know  I  can't  stay  here.  Whenever  I  think 
of  you,  it  will  make  me  work  harder,  and  hold  up  my  head 

higher.  Some  day  I'm  coming  back  again,  and  then  " 

He  paused,  and  a  deep  flush  spread  over  his  face.  He  looked 
at  the  child ;  she  stood  with  those  great  tearful  eyes  fixed 
with  such  an  innocent  inquisitiveness  upon  his  face,  that  he 
only  added,  "  then  I  shall  come  to  see  you  again,  and  thank 
you  better  than  I  can  now  for  all  you  have  done  for  me." 

"  I've  never  done  anything  for  you,"  she  answered,  still  cry- 
ing, "  but  I'm  so  sorry  you're  going  away." 

"  You  spoke  the  first  loving  word  to  me  that  I  have  heard 
since  I  was  a  baby,"  he  answered  in  a  choking  voice.  "  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  that,  I  should  never  have  dared  attend  Church 
or  Sunday  School ;  and  I  should  never  have  learned  all  I 
know  now,  and  never  been  half  so  happy  as  I  am  or  hope  to 
be." 

"  Oh !  no,"  she  answered,  it  was  Mr.  Terry  that  taught  you 
to  study  your  Bible,  and  find  in  that  whatwas  right  and  wrong. 
Will  you  always  read  it,  'Will,  and  every  night  will  you  pray 
to  God  for  Jesus's  sake  ?" 

"•  Yes,  Maggie,  I  promise  you  I  will ;  and  try  to  be  good, 
try  very  hard  to  be  good." 

"  But  I  can't  see  you  though,"  cried  Maggie,  "  oh  dear !" 
She  snatched  up  the-  hem  of  her  calico  apron  with  both 
hands,  and  commenced  rubbing  her  eyes. 

They  were  both  crying  by  this  time,  although  both  trying 
with  all  their  might  not  to  cry.  At  length  the  boy,  a  little 
ashamed  of  his  emotion,  swallowed  down  his  sobs,  and  com- 
menced trying  to  comfort  his  companion. 

"  I  shall  come  back  again,"  he  said,  confidently,  "  I  am 
determined  to  get  rich  and  famous  some  day,  if  it's  only  for 


KATE    "WESTON.  241 

your  sake.     I  used  to  think  I  couldn't  do  anything  or  be  any- 
thing once,  but  I  know  better  now.     Don't  cry,  Maggie." 

"  But  it'll  be  such  a  long  time,"  sobbed  Maggie,  "  and  you 
might  be  drowned,  or  get  sick,  and  I  should  never  know." 

"  Yes,  you  shall  know  too,  for  I  am  going  to  write  to  you 
once  every  month,  and  if  anything  happens  to  me,  you  shall 
know  it ;  but  you  must  write  too,  for  I  shall"  want  to  know  all 
about  you ;  only  be  careful  when  you  carry  letters  to  the 
office  that  somebody  doesn't  see  the  direction,  eh  ?" 

Maggie  stopped  crying  and  looked  up.  "  Are  you  afraid 
he'd  make  you  come  back  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  think 
he  could,  but  he  might  tiy  to  worry  me.  He  hates  me,  and," 
added  the  boy,  firing  with  indignation,  "  /  hate  him.1' 

"  Oh !"  said  Maggie,  "  you  oughtn't  to  say  you  hate  any- 
body. That's  wicked,  you  know." 

"  I  do  hate  him,"  he  answered,  passionately.  "  I'd  like  to 
know  what  I've  ever  had  of  him  since  I  can  remember,  but 
blows,  and  curses,  and  ill-usage.  He's  tried  4o  frighten  me 
lately  by  talking  about  law,  and  his  right  of  guardian.  He 
isn't  my  uncle ;  I  know  he  isn't ;  I  never  believed  it,  and  I'm 
sure  he  wouldn't  dare  to  go  to  law  about  me." 

The  fierce  indignation  pictured  on  his  countenance  for  an 
instant  banished  the  sorrow  of  his  companion,  who  asked  balf- 
wonderingly,  "  What  makes  you  so  sure,  Will  ?  I  don't  see  why 
he  shouldn't  be  your  uncle.  I  know  some  good  people  that 
have  veiy  bad  relations.  There's  good-natured  little  Kitty 
Toole's  got  a  drunken  father,  and  " — 

"Oh,  'tisn't  that!"  interrupted  the  youth,  "I'm  not  good  at 
all.  I've  been  brought  up  always  in  every  sort  of  wickedness. 
There  isn't  a  boy  my  age  in  the  village  that's  seen  anything 
like  it,  not  even  Jake  Jones !" 

"  But,"  pleaded  Maggie,  laying  her  -hand  on  his  arm  ;  "  you 
didn't  do  it,  I  know  you  didn't,  and  you  couldn't  help  being 
there  then,  you  know." 

11 


242  KATE    WESTON. 

A  quiver  of  pain  shot  over  the  boy's  pale  face,  then  passed 
away  leaving  the  old,  sad,  troubled  look  behind.  For  a  minute 
he  stood,  gazing  mechanically  at  the  small  hand  that  lay  so 
gently  on  his  arm.  "  Don't  look  so,  Will,  you  frighten  me," 
she  added  at  length,  "  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Maggie,  once,  a  good  while  ago,  when  I  was  quite  a  little 
boy,  master  got  angry  at  a  man  that  I  liked,  and  rushed  at 
him  with  a  knife.  I  caught  up  another  that  lay  on  the  table, 
and  thrust  it  in  master's  shoulder.  I  meant  to  kill  him,  for 
I'm  sure  I  hated  him  enough,  but  he  only  knocked  me  sense- 
less on  the  floor,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  when  I  came  to 
my  senses,  I  was  lying  on  the  floor  with  my  hand  lying  in  a 
pool  of  blood.  I  looked  round,  and  there,  close  by  me  on  the 
floor,  lay  the  corpse  of  the  man  I  had  tried  to  defend.  That 
gives  me  more  trouble  than  anything  else,  to  remember  that 
I  was  just  as  bad  as  master,  and  if  I  had  happened  to  hit  him 
in  the  right  place,  I  should  have  been  a  murderer?  He 
shuddered,  and  put  both  hands  before  his  face. 

"  And  wasn't  anything  done  to  him  ?"  asked  Maggie,  also 
shuddering,  and  recoiling  a  step  or  two. 

"  No,  he  got  off  because  I  didn't  see  him  do  it.  That's  one 
thing  makes  me  think  he'll  hunt  me  out  wherever  I  go.  He 
was  always  ugly  to  me,  but  ever  since  then — he  might  better 
have  killed  me  twenty  times  over,  only — Oh !  I'm  a  dreadful 
wretch,  Maggie,  I  couldn't  die,  either  ;  what  would  become  of 
me  ?  I'm  almost  as  bad  as  he  !"  The  slender  form  crouched, 
the  head  was  bowed,  and  the  whole  attitude  was  expressive  of 
self-loathing  and  humiliation. 

For  a  few  moments  his  companion  stood  at  a  little  distance, 
looking  doubtfully  at  him,  and  feeling,  perhaps,  less  esteem 
and  more  pity  than  she  had  ever  felt  for  him  before.  But  the 
loving  look  soon  shone  out  again  upon  her  face,  and  she  stole 
up  to  his  side,  "  But  you-  were  quite  young  then,  and  had 
never  been  taught  any  better.  Besides  you  did  it  to  save 
your  friend's  life." 


KATE    WESTON.  243 

"  I  believe  I'd  have  done  it  many's  the  time,  if  "it  hadn't 
been  for  fear  of  what  would  happen  afterwards.  I'm  sure  he'd 
kill  me  if  he  didn't  hate  me  too  bad.  He  thinks  that  would 
put  me  out  of  his  power.  Oh,  Maggie !"  he  continued,  with 
a  fresh  burst  of  anguish,  "  I  mean  to  be  better,  I  will  be  better, 
I'm  going  to  try  to  be  as  good  some  day  as  Dr.  Clarence,  but 
I  can't  make  up  for  all  those  horrible  years,  and  you  won't 
love  me — and  perhaps  I  shall  die — and  then  what  will  become 
of  me  ?" 

The  girl  paused,  with  a  puzzled,  anxious  look  at  his  quiver- 
ing face  ;  at  last  she  said  half-hesitating,  "  Will,  I  shall  love 
you,  I  shall  never  stop  loving  you,  but  you  don't  go  the  right 
way  to  work  to  be  good.  We  are  all  bad,  Will,  Mr.  Terry 
says  so." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head,  "  you're  not  bad,  nor 
Mr.  Terry,  and  I'm  sure  Dr.  Clarence  never  could  be  bad. 
When  Mr.  Terry  preaches  about  sin  and  the  wicked  place,  I 
take  it  all  for  me,  and  many's  the  night  I've  laid  awake  crying 
and  lamenting  more  over  my  own  wickedness  than  over  all 
my  trouble  with  master.  I  know  you  never  hated,  Maggie. 
Oh  !  it's  a  dreadful  thing  to  hate." 

"  I  used  to,  Will,"  she  answered.  "  There  was  a  girl  in 
New  York  I  hated  dreadfully,  she  beat  me  so,  and  called  me 
such  names.  I've  often  felt  as  though  I'd  like  to  bite  her  nose 
off,  if  I  could.  And  when  I  first  came  here,  I  hated  Catha- 
rine too,  she  snubbed  me  so,  and  told  Mrs.  Terry  stories  about 
me.  But  I  hope  I  don't  hate  anybody  now." 

"  You  did !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  "  I  didn't  think  you  could. 
How  did  you  leave  off  hating  then  ?" 

"  I  prayed  to  God  to  help  me,"  was  the  unaffected  answer, 
"  and  if  you  pray  to  God,  He'll  help  you  too." 

"  I  do  pray,  and  pray  and  pray",  he  said  bitterly,  "but  it 
don't  do  any  good.  I  only  feel  worse  after ;  sometimes  I 
think  I'll  never  pray  again  at  all." 

"  Don't  think  so,"  she  answered  earnestly.     "  It's  because 


244  KATE    WESTON. 

you  don't  pray  right,  Will.  Jesus  Christ  says  '  Whatsoever 
ye  shall  ask  in  rny  name,  believing  that  ye  shall  receive,  that 
ye  shall  surely  have.'  I've  asked  that  you  might  come  to 
love  our  blessed  Savior,  and  trust  in  Him  for  salvation ;  and 
I  know"  she  added,  turning  a  face  lit  all  over  with  the 
blessed,  child-like  faith  of  the  humble  follower  of  Jesus,  "I  know 
that  some  day  you  will  love  Him,  and  be  like  Him." 

The  boy  made  no  answer,  although  his  soul  drank  in  a 
draught  of  hope  from  the  earnest,  loving  words  of  the  child- 
disciple.  She  turned  quickly  away,  entered  the  house,  and 
soon  returned  with  her  little  pocket-Bible.  "  Come,  Will," 
she  said,  "  let's  go  down  to  the  old  apple-tree  by  the  barn,  a 
little  while.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Terry  have  gone  out,  and  I  want 
to  tell  you  something." 

They  walked  away  together  through  the  little  green  lane 
that  led  to  the  barn,  and  seated  themselves  on  the  grass,  at 
the  foot  of  a  huge  apple-tree  loaded  with  fruit. 

"  I  can  only  stay  an  hour,  Maggie,"  said  William,  as  he 
dropped  on  the  ground  beside  her;  "I  must  stop  at  Mr. 
Clarence's  and  Rosy's  before  I  go." 

Happy  boy  !  that  hour  was  the  sunrise  of  a  new  day,  glo- 
rious, unending ;  the  hour  to  which  he  turned  in  long  years 
of  toil  and  trial  as  the  parent  of  every  pure  resolve,  every 
immortal  aspiration,  every  deed  of  love  and  faith  that  rendered 
his  after  life  an  oasis  in  the  world's  desert  to  all  who  needed 
his  sympathy  or  aid. 

"  I  brought  you  here  to  tell  you  how  I  came  to  find  out 
the  way  to  pray,"  said  Maggie,  her  voice  faltering  a  little  at 
first,  through  natural  diffidence,  which  she.  was  evidently 
striving  to  cast  off,  for  the  sake  of  her  companion.  "  Once  I 
felt  just  as  you  do.  Sometimes,  after  mj  teacher  in  New 
York  told  me  about  God,  a,nd  Heaven,  and  prayer,  I  used  to 
pray  to  be  made  better,  and  try  with  all  my  might  to  be  good ; 
but  I  couldn't  do  it  at  all ;  before  I  knew  anything  about  it, 
there  would  be  that  old  ugly  feeling  coming  up  in  my  heart, 


KATE    WESTON.  245 

and  all  I  could  do  I  couldn't  keep  it  away.  Sometimes  for 
two  or  three  days  together,  I  would  think  I  was  very  good 
indeed ;  I  can  remember  looking  at  other  girls  and  thinking 
to  myself,  '  If  they  only  knew  how  much  oftener  I  prayed, 
and  how  much  better  I  was  than  they,  wouldn't  they  feel 
ashamed?'  But  I  always  found  out  that  after  I  thought  I 
had  been  very  good  for  a  day  or  two,  I  was  sure  to  do  some- 
thing very  bad  that  discouraged  me  entirely.  But  after  I 
came  out  here,  I  found  that  I  couldn't  be  good  myself,  and  it 
was  no  use  to  try." 

Her  companion  interrupted  her.  "But  you  are  not  like 
me,  Maggie.  You  must  have  been  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
am,  always.  You  haven't  helped  along  in  such  dreadful 
wickedness  as  I've  had  to,  many  a  time  before  I  knew  you  and 
Dr.  Clarence." 

"  Oh,  Will,"  said  the  eager  girl,  "  you  don't  know ;  God 
looks  at  the  heart,  and  His  Holy  Word  says  '  The  heart  is 
deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked.'  My  heart 
used  to  be  full  of  anger,  and  envy,  and  selfishness,  and  I  have 
to  fight  hard  now  to  keep  it  away."  The  child's  diffidence 
was  forgotten  now,  and  the  simple  words  came  gushing 
from  the  soul  like  waters  from  a  fountain,  while  her 
upturned  face  glowed  with  the  hope  of  opening  light  to  the 
darkened  eyes  of  the  convicted  sinner.  "  I  tell  you,  Will,"  she 
continued,  "  if  I  had  been  situated  just  as  you  were,  I  really 
believe  I  should  have  been  a  great  deal  worse.  I  heard  Mr. 
Terry  say  the  other  day,  that  he  thought  it  was  very  strange 
you  were  not  more  hardened,  living  as  you  had,  under  such 
dreadful  influences  all  your  life  ;  and  Mr.  Clarence,  who  was 
there,  said,  in  his  dear,  good-natured  way.  '  Bless  you,  Terry, 
that  boy'll  make  something  yet.  He's  been  kept  from  the 
evil  of  this  world  just  by  the  help  of  Almighty  God,  and  it's 
wonderful,  so  'tis.  If  he  don't  make  one  o'  the  best  Chris- 
tians that  ever  lived,  before  lie  dies,  then  my  name  isn't 
Jeremiah  Clarence." 


246  KATE   WE6TON. 

"  They  don't  know  how  bad  I  am,"  groaned  the  boy. 

"It  makes  no  difference  how  bad  you  are,"  she  replied. 

"  No  difference  how  bad  I  am  ?" 

"  No,  not  to  God.  We  have  all  sinned,  and  He  is  so  holy, 
that  he  cannot  look  upon  sin  with  the  least  degree  of  allow- 
ance, but" — 

"That's  it,"  cried  her  companion.  "All  my  fears  and 
troubles  with  master  were  nothing  to  that.  When  I 
think  about  the  Great,  Holy  God,  and  death,  and  eternity, 
and  the  judgment,  I  don't  know  which  way  to  turn.  All 
the  sins  of  my  life  rise  up  before  me ;  I  think  how  hard  I 
have  tried  to  make  myself  better,  and  that  I  cannot  do  it ; 
and  so  I  must  go  on,  and  die  at  last  without  hoping  " — 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Maggie.  "You  will  be  better,  I 
know  you  will ;  let  me  tell  you.  I  felt  just  as  you  do  once  ; 
I  thought  God  was  so  angry  with  me,  that  he  could  never 
forgive  me.  But  dear  Mrs.  Terry  gave  me  this  blessed  book, 
and  taught  me  from  it  about  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  that  we 
might  be  saved.  I  gave  up  trying  to  be  good  myself,  and 
found  out  that  I  must  trust  all  into  the  hands  of  Jesus,  and 
pray  to  love  Him  and  be  like  Him.  Once,"  she  continued, 
letting  her  eyes  wander  admiringly  over  the  landscape,  "  I 
used  to  sit  down  here,  and  look  at  the  green  fields,  and  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  shining  river,  and  tremble  at  the  thought 
that  I  had  sinned  against  that  God  who  made  them ;  but 
now,"  she  added,  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  "  when  I  look 
at  His  beautiful  things,  I  can  hardly  help  singing  out  for  joy, 
because  I  know  now  the  God  who  made  them  is  my  Hea- 
venly Father,  yes — mine,  because  '  He  sent  His  only  begotten 
Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  Him,  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.' " 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  be  like  you !"  said  the  boy  sadly,  gaz- 
ing at  her  animated  face.  "  But  I'm  afraid  Jesus  Christ  isn't 
willing  to  save  me.  I  don't  love  Him  enough.  I've  prayed 
to  Him  too,  but  I  can't  believe  He  hears  me." 


KATE   WESTON.  247 

"  Well  now,  William,"  said  the  young  girl,  taking  up  her 
Bible,  and  drawing  to  his  side,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  Mrs. 
Terry  did  for  me.  I  didn't  like  to  tell  her  at  first  how  I  felt 
about  it,  but  she  spoke  to  me  so  gently,  and  asked  me  such 
simple  questions,  that  she  found  all  out  herself.  She  used 
to  take  this  little  Bible,  and  no  matter  what  I  would  say,  she 
would  find  some  place  or  other  in  it  that  answered  me.  At 
first  I  couldn't  believe  all  the  passages  were  there  that  she 
used  to  read ;  then  I  began  to  think  it  was  the  most  wonder- 
ful book  that  was  ever  written ;  and  now  I  know  it  is  the 
best  and  dearest.  You  said  just  now  that  you  could  not 
believe  that  God  heard  you.  Now  I  have  the  passages  all 
marked  here  that  Mrs.  Terry  found  for  me,  and  I  can  find 
you  one, — here  it  is:  John  v.  17.  'If  we  ask  anything 
according  to  His  will  He  heareth  us.' " 

"  Then  I  don't  ask  according  to  his  will,  and  he  will  not 
hear  me,"  answered  her  companion  quickly. 

"  Don't  you  think  then,  you  ought  to  try  to  find  out  the 
will  of  God?" 

"  I  know  what  His  will  is,  already.  It  is  His  will  that  I 
should  be  good  and  holy,  but  I  can  not ;  the  harder  I  try,  the 
worse  I  seem  to  be." 

"  1  thought  so  too,  once,  but  I  found  out  that  wasn't  all  His 
will." 

" Not  all !"  exclaimed  Will ;  " I  can't  even  do  that!" 

"  Well,"  said  Maggie,  smiling,  "  if  you  could  do  that,  you 
needn't  want  to  do  any  more.  Hear  what  the  Apostle  John 
says,  '  And  this  is  His  commandment ;  that  we  should  believe 
on  the  name  of  His  Son  Jesus  Christ.'  If  it  wasn't  His  will, 
do  you  think  he  would  have  commanded  us  to  believe  ?" 

"  I  do  believe  in  Jesus  Christ." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  that  he  will  save  you  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not.     I  am  not  good  enough." 

The  girl  turned  over  to  a  fly  leaf  of  her  Bible,  written  over 
in  a  fine  legible  hand,  and  commenced  reading,  slightly 


248  KATE    WESTON. 

emphasizing  some  words  as  she  continued,,  "'The  soul  that 
sinneth,  it  shall  die.' 

"  '  This  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation  that 
Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  of  whom  I 
am  chief? 

" '  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  His  Son,  cleanseth  us  from 
all  sin.' 

"  '  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  His  only  begotten 
Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  Him,  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life.  For  God  sent  not  His  Son  into  the 
world  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that  the  world  through  Him 
might  be  saved.' 

" '  He  that  believeth  on  Him  is  not  condemned ;  but  he  that 
believeth  not,  is  condemned  already,  because  he  hath  not 
believed  in  the  name  of  the  only  begotten  Son  of  God.' 

"  '  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  the 
Father  in  my  name,  he  will  give  it  you.  Hitherto,  ye  have 
asked  nothing  in  my  name;  ask,  and  ye  shall  receive,  that 
your  joy  may  be  full.'  " 

The  youth  sat  listening  attentively  until  she  closed  the 
book,  and  without  turning  her  eyes  towards  him,  knelt  down 
upon  the  turf;  he  unconsciously  knelt  beside  her,  bowing  his 
head  upon  his  hands,  and  such  a  prayer  went  up  from  the 
shadow  of  that  old  apple-tree,  as  never  before  had  found  an 
echo  in  the  repentant  sinner's  heart  Wakening  the  dor- 
mant seeds  of  faith,  and  trust,  and  love  to  a  new  life ;  calling 
down  the  Holy  Spirit's  influences,  like  the  dew  upon  Hermon 
to  fertilize  the  desert,  and  make  the  wilderness  rejoice.  Ear- 
nest, loving  Maggie !  Not  in  vain  did  that  prayer  ascend  to 
Heaven.  Faith  and  labor  like  thine  in  every  Christian's  heart 
would  scatter  broadcast  over  the  earth  seed  that  springeth 
up  unto  everlasting  life.  Hanpy  Maggie  !  "  He  that  turneth 
a  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  ways  saveth  a  soul  from  death, 
and  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Terry,  the  Clarences  and  Rosy  had  all  some 


KATE    WESTON.  249 

characteristic  expression  of  their  solicitude  in  his  behalf.  The 
young  clergyman  with  unusual  earnestness  said  to  him  at 
parting,  "  God  bless  you,  my  boy.  Here  is  a  reference  Bible 
and  a  copy  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Never  rest  until  you 
are  on  the  celestial  highway,  and  be  sure  you  enter  it  by  the 
wicket  gate,  pray  to  God  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our 
only  hope  and  Redeemer.  I  hope  you  may  be  successful  in 
the  world,  but  do  not  set  your  heart  upon  its  treasures." 

"  Well,"  soliloquized  Rosy,  as  she  watched  him  bounding 
across  the  fields,  "  de  blessed  Lord'll  go  wid  dat  boy.  Lawk 
alive,  didn't  I  tink  he  wor  de  most  'rnarkable  chap  dat  fust 
day  he  com'd  here  wid  Mas'r  Edward.  Gettin'  him  tipsy,  and 
den  a  cryin'  ober  it.  He  make  him  tipsy !  Law,  it  makes 
me  laf  to  dis  day  to  tink  ob  it.  He's  a  goin'  to  impair  his 
fortune  now,  'dough.  Good  boy.  De  Lord  will  go  wid  him, 
dat  ar  a  feet." 

The  boy's  way  lay  over  green  fields  and  under  trees  arrayed 
in  gorgeous  hues  of  brown,  red,  and  gold.  He  sat  down  upon 
a  knoll  in  the  woods,  and  unfolded  his  parcel.  He  had 
hardly  had  time  to  glance  at  the  few  parting  gifts  of  the  only 
friends  he  possessed  in  all  the  wide  world.  The  first  glance 
at  them  called  forth  a  fresh  burst  of  tears.  His  parting  was 
no  ordinary  one ;  to  the  youth,  whose  early  years  went  by  in 
cloud  and  storm,  until  almost  every  leaf  of  the  delicate  heart- 
flower  lay  crushed  and  withered,  it  was  no  small  thing  to  tear 
away  from  the  fostering  hands  that  had  raised  the  drooping 
stem,  and  kindled  a  new  life  by  the  sunshine  of  Christian  love. 
Even  while  he  rejoiced  at  the  freedom  he  had  won,  he  wept 
that  in  gaining  it,  he  had  cut  himself  from  all  support  and 
assistance  save  such  as  depended  on  his  own  exer- 
tions. 

His  heart  sank  within  him.     How  should  he,  a  stranger  in 

a  strange  world,  without  education,  without  friends,  without 

money,  ever  master  all  these  difficulties,  and  bring  back  to 

those  so  hopeful  on  his  behalf,  good  name,  fortune,  and  a  stand- 

11* 


250  KATE    WESTON. 

ing  in  society  ? — Above  all,  how  should  he  learn  that  meek- 
ness and  holiness  for  which  his  spirit  yearned  ? 

He  opened  his  new  Bible  and  started  as  he  read  on  the 
blank  page  just  beneath  his  name,  as  if  in  answer  to  his 
thoughts, — 

'  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness, 
and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you."  A  little 
further  down  he  read, — 

"Hast  thou  not  known?  hast  thou  not  heard  that  the 
everlasting  God,  the  Lord,  the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  fainteth  not,  neither  is  weary  ?  there  is  no  searching  of 
his  understanding. 

"  He  giveth  power  to  the  faint ;  and  to  them  that  have 
no  might  he  increaseth  strength. 

"  Even  the  youths  shall  faint  and  be  weary,  and  the  young 
men  shall  utterly  fall. 

"  But  they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their 
strength ;  they  shall  amount  up  with  wings  as  eagles ;  they 
shall  run,  and  not  be  weary ;  and  they  shall  walk,  and  not 
faint." 

The  boy  fell  with  his  face  to  the  ground ;  where  no  human 
eye  could  see,  no  human  ear  could  hear,  he  poured  forth  the 
first  passionate  prayer  of  faith  and  hope,  "  Lord,  be  Thou  my 
helper ! .  Lord,  save,  or  I  perish !  Lord  have  mercy  on  the 
chief  of  sinners  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  thy  Son.  Lord, 
I  believe ;  take  me  for  thine  own ;  make  me  thine,  wholly 
thine,  not  in  my  name,  not  in  mine,  but  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
my  Savior." 

The  All-seeing  saw,  the  All-hearing  heard,  the  All-pitying 
pitied,  and  light  from  Heaven  streamed  in  upon  the  darkened 
soul. 

The  Spirit  of  God,  bearing  peace  and  healing  in  its  wings, 
came  down  to  the  breast  of  the  orphan  boy ;  that  Spirit, 
which,  so  often,  grieved  away  from  the  home  of  wealth  and 
talent,  makes  its  dwelling-place  among  the  lowly  of  earth, 


KATE   WESTON.  251 

bestows  upon  them  treasures  richer  than  gold  or  gems,  and 
opens  their  mouth  to  sing  aloud,  a  song  whose  depth  and 
purity  poet  cannot  reach,  nor  learned  tongues  command. 

As  the  boy  flew  down  the  hill  towards  the  boat,  his  heart 
swelled  with  a  new  and  unimagined  joy.  "  Old  things  had 
passed  away,  and  all  things  had  become  new."  A  blessed 
consciousness  that  he  had  now  a  Friend  who  would  be  always 
near,  buoyed  him  above  all  doubt  or  fear.  He  murmured  to 
himself,  "  I  will  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  right- 
eousness, and  further  than  that,  thy  will,  O  Lord,  not  mine  be 
done." 

So  absorbed  had  he  been  in  his  meditations,  that  he  barely 
escaped  being  left ;  he  reached  the  landing,  however,  just  as 
the  plank  was  being  withdrawn,  and  hastening  to  the  bows  of 
the  boat,  seated  himself  alone,  and  again  opened  his  Bible, 
laying  his  Pilgrim's  Progress  on  the  package  at  his  side. 
Then  he  recollected  that  he  had  not  seen  Maggie's  little  gift, 
for  just  as  she  was  saying,  "  take  it,  Willie,  it  is  a  minature  of 
brother  and  me  when  we  were  little  children,  and  all  I  have 
to  give  you,"  Mrs.  Terry  had  entered  the  room,  and  rolled 
up  Maggie's  little  parcel  in  her  own,  before  giving  it  into  his 
hand.  He  unrolled  the.  paper,  took  out  some  articles  of 
clothing,  Mrs.  Terry's  gift,  and  opened  the  little  paper  given 
him  by  Maggie.  It  was  a  gold  locket,  with  the  initials,  M. 
E.  M.  engraved  on  the  outside.  He  touched  the  spring;  a 
small  branch  tastefully  formed  of  three  different  kinds  of 
hair  lay  bedded  beneath  the  crystal.  One  was  black,  another 
silver  grey,  and  another  golden,  the  last,  bright  and  shining, 
the  prettiest  he  thought,  he  had  ever  seen.  Another  opening 
revealed  two  sweet  childish  faces,  painted  on  ivory,  both  with 
ringlets  floating  partly  over  them,  and  very  much  alike,  except 
that  the  girl's  curls  and  eyes  were  black,  while  the  eyes  of  the 
boy  were  a  clear  blue,  and  his  ringlets  the  counterpart  of  the 
golden  hair  on  the  other  side  of  the  locket.  He  tried  to 
trace  the  resemblance  between  the  likene^ss  and  Maggie.  They 


252  KATE    WESTON. 

looked  alike,  to  be  sure ;  the  eyes  were  the  same  color,  the 

features  the  same  shape,  and  yet something  in  the  eyes, 

that  he  loved  best  was  wanting  there  ;  something  in  the  smile 
about  the  mouth  seemed  different  from  Maggie.  He  looked 
a  good  while,  and  at  last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
not  a  true  likeness,  and  folding  it  up,  again  betook  himself  to 
his  book. 

And  yet  it  was  an  excellent  likeness  at  the  time  it  was 
taken ;  and  not  a  feature  of  the  child's  face  had  changed  either. 
But  something  was  changed ;  the  heart  had  been  early  tried 
as  in  the  refiner's  fire,  and  the  light  now  gleaming  from  her 
dark  eyes,  and  dancing  about  her  mouth,  was  not  the  sunshine 
of  childhood's  mirth,  but  borrowed  light  from  heaven,  that 
had  guided  him  to  peace  and  happiness. 

As  he  sat  absorbed  in  meditation,  he  did  not  notice  the 
silent  approach  of  another  searcher  for  solitude,  nor  see  the 
glance  of  surprise  with  which  he  was  regarded,  as  the  stranger 
seated  himself  at  a  little  distance,  with  the  long  skirts  of  his 
coat  touching  the  deck,  depositing  at  his  side  a  package  and 
a  pair  of  gloves,  and  after  taking  a  small  book  from  his 
pocket,  giving  one  or  two  satisfied  little  nods,  and  leaning  his 
chin  upon  the  top  of  his  silver-headed  cane,  commenced  read- 
ing to  himself.  His  attention,  however,  seemed  difficult  to 
fix,  for  he  could  not  have  read  more  than  a  sentence  or  two, 
before  he  looked  up  at  the  boy  again ;  then  his  eye  happened 
to  fall  upon  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  at  his  side.  There  was  a 
picture  on  the  cover  of  Christian  knocking  at  the  wicket  gate, 
that  he  perfectly  remembered  he  had  seen  at  Mr.  Terry's. 
He  now  looked  still  more  puzzled,  but  upon  again  looking  up 
to  see  tears  standing  in  the  eyes  of  his  companion,  he  jumped 
up,  made  three  or  four  quick  steps  towards  him,  crying  as  the 
boy  looked  up — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Reading  the  Bible,  eh  ?" 
The  little  old  gentleman  was  so  astonished  that  he  forgot  to 
bow  or  thump  as  usual,  and  stood,  cane  in  hand,  gazing  at  the 


KATE    WESTON.  253 

confused  boy,  who  answered,  "  Yes,  Mr.  Benson,  reading  the 
Bible." 

"Well  now,  I'm  delighted  at  that;  but  seems  to  me,  T. 
Gamp  &  Co.'d  hardly  give  you  these  to  read ;  very  strange" — 
and  the  old  gentleman  gave  two  or  three  dubious  shakes  of 
the  head,  and  looked  wonderingly«at  his  companion. 

"No  indeed,"  answered  he,  "I  think  not.  Mr.  Terry  gave 
me  these,  and  I  shall  bless  him  as  long  as  I  live.  I  have  left 
Mr.  Gamp." 

"  Left  T.  Gamp  &  Co. !  Left !  Ha— ha— ha  "—thump — 
thump — thump — "  ha — ha — ha  !  Then  the  lamb  is  out  of 
the  snare  of  the  ravening  wolf.  How  did  jou  leave 
him  ?" 

The  boy,  who  was  aware  of  Father  Benson's  enmity  to  his 
late  master,  related  to  him  the  particulars  of  his  escape,  every 
now  and  then  interrupted  by  a  delighted  chuckle  consisting 
of  three  distinct  little  ha — ha — ha's,  or  by  three  emphatic 
thumps  of  the  indefatigable  cane.  When  William  was  through 
his  story,  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes  as  though  recalling  some 
thought  that  he  wished  to  remember.  Then,  suddenly,  his 
countenance  lighting  up  with  a  gleam  of  delight,  dropping  his 
cane  altogether,  and  rubbing  his  hands  ecstatically  together, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Three  years — three — everything  goes  by 
threes,  my  boy.  Three  years  exactly  since  you  came  to  our 
village.  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it — everything  by  threes.  Three 
years  from  to-day,  my  Willie'll  come  back  to  me.  You  are 
like  Willie  too,  he  added,  glancing  musingly  upon  the  slender 
youth,  only  my  boy  was  straight  and  firm  as  an  arrow,  and  he 
had  fine  dark  whiskers,  but  you  are  bent,  and  your  cheeks  are 

thin  and  pale ;  but  then  you  might  have  been  ill,  and 

say,  you  are  not  my  boy,"  he  cried,  seizing  him  nervously  by 
the  arm — "  tell  me,  you  are  Willie,  and  have  broken  away 
from  them  at  last." 

The  youth  perceiving  his  excitement,  and  aware  of  his 
mania,  spoke  calmly,  "  No,  Mr.  Benson,  I  am  not  your  son,  I 


254  KATE    WESTON. 

never  saw  you  before  I  came  to  Laconia.  I  wish  I  had  a 
father,  but  I  do  not  suppose  I  have." 

"  Well,  well,  then,"  said  Father  Benson,  relaxing  his  hold,  I 
shall  have  to  wait  three  years  longer,  and  you'll  have  to 
wait  too — three,  the  appointed  time.  Yes,"  he  continued, 
musing,  and  tapping  the  deck  at  every  word — "  three — three — 
three — it  was  always  three ;  it  always  will  be  three." 

Poor  old  man  ;  he  didn't  remember  in  his  partial  blindness, 
that  many  threes  had  begun  and  gone,  since  he  first  wept  the 
parting  from  his  boy. 

Father  Benson  was  a  true  disciple  of  Jesus,  and  though  his 
mind  was  clouded  with  partial  insanity,  no  foot  walked  more 
steadily  than  his  in  the  way  of  holiness.  He  was  by  no 
means  an  idler  in  his  Master's  vineyard ;  nor  did  he  suffer  so 
favorable  an  opportunity  for  pressing  home  to  the  youth  the 
offers  of  salvation,  to  pass  by  without  profit.  His"  companion, 
reading  in  the  aged  face  the  simple  benevolence  of  his  char- 
acter, related  to  him  all  the  occurrences  of  the  day,  including 
the  peace  that  had  entered  his  heart,  and  the  implicit  trust  he 
felt  in  the  Savior  who  had  died  that  he  might  live.  Tears 
glistened  on  the  furrowed  cheeks  long  before  the  boy  had 
finished  his  recital.  He  drew  from  his  standard  library 
Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress,  and  handed  it  to  William, 
saying  half-mournfully, "  God  bless  you,  boy.  He  will  bless  you. 
Verily,  'His  hand  has  snatched  you  as  a  brand  from  the 
burning,  or  as  a  bird  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler.' "  Then 
bursting  into  tears,  he  cried,  as  if  for  a  moment  recalled  to 
perfect  reason,  "  My  son,  my  son,  if  your  feet  had  but  returned 
to  the  ways  of  peace,  I  could  have  died  content.  But,"  he 
continued,  checking  his  tears,  "he  will  come  back  in  three 
years — yes,  everything  by  threes." 

The  youth  sat  long  that  night  gazing  up  to  the  starry  skies, 
and  out  over  the  waters.  All  things  lovely  had  in  them  now 
a  still,  small  voice  never  audible  before.  The  waves  rolling 
up  their  white  foam  on  either  side,  talked  to  him  of  God. 


KATE   WESTON.  255 

The  stars,  sinning  down  from  the  calm  sty  told  their  own 
silent  tale  of  Infinite  power  and  "unending  time.  But  sweetest 
of  all,  in  that  one  trampled  human  heart  lay  the  changeless 
proof  of  Infinite  compassion  and  undying  love.  The  Spirit  of 
God  had  taken  of  the  things  of  God  and  revealed  them  to  the 
new-born  soul. 

And  Maggie,  when  she  knelt  at  her  bed-side  that  night,  did 
no  voice  whisper  her  of  a  noble  deed  performed ;  of  a  trial 
bravely  met,  and  a  lofty  mission  done.  If  so,  she  bowed  her 
head  meekly,  murmuring,  "  To  Thy  name  be  all  the  glory." 
Had  some  ministering  spirit  borne  to  her  soul  the  tidings  of 
the  wanderer's  safety,  that  that  triumphant  strain  of  praise  and 
joy  went  up  to  Heaven  ?  Faith  such  as  filled  the  breast  of 
Abraham  when  he  bound  his  son  upon  the  altar — such  as  the 
Hebrew  mother  felt  when  she  left  her  babe  beside  the  rushing 
waters,  gave  as  truly  to  her  soul  the  consciousness  of  that 
prayer  answered,  as  though  a  voice  from  Heaven  had  spoken. 
She  knelt  there,  not  now  the  timid,  sorrowing  child,  but  the 
triumphant  Christian. 

Nor  was  it  to  William  only  that  her  faithful  efforts  had  been 
blest.  The  young  clergyman  had  that  day  returned  with  a 
heavy  heart  from  some  unsuccessful  labors  in  his  parish. 

Not  finding  his  wife  in,  he  had  gone  quietly  to  the  barn  to 
leave  the  horse  he  had  been  riding.  Having  occasion  to 
ascend  to  the  loft  above,  he  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of 
voices  from  without,  and  looking  out  had  witnessed  the  scene 
beneath  the  apple  tree.  When  he  recognized  in  the  list  of 
passages  read  by  Maggie  with  such  depth  of  feeling,  the  very 
ones  he  had  selected  for  her  study  a  year  or  two  previous, 
when  she  was  earnestly  seeking  the  way  of  life,  his  soul  was 
comforted.  Worn  out  with  apparently  fruitless  efforts,  his 
heart  had  long  been  sick  with  hope  deferred.  Faithful  always 
to  his  sacred  trust,  he  labored  in  the  pulpit,  at  the  hearthstone, 
and  by  the  wayside,  for  the  salvation  of  immortal  r,ouls.  But 
of  late  his  efforts  had  seemed  fruitless.  The  hearts  of  men 


256  KATE    WESTON. 

seemed  hardened ;  vices  of  a  decided  character  were  emanat- 
ing from  the  two  or  three  small  groggeries  now  established 
in  the  village.  Gamp  had  associated  with  himself  a  partner, 
whose  purposes  he  could  too  well  imagine,  since  the  loft  of 
the  old  saloon  had  been  newly  furnished  with  billiards  and  card 
tables.  That  afternoon,  too,  he  had  heard  that  his  own  young 
brother-in-law  had  been  decoyed  into  playing  a  game  of  bil- 
liards with  Reid  and  Myers.  But  in  the  expostulations  and 
eloquent  prayers  of  the  child  he  read  a  lesson  of  faith  and 
patience.  Here  was  a  fruit  of  his  labors  least  expected  and 
least  hoped  for.  Two  years  before  he  had  welcomed  the  child 
as  a  lamb  into  the  fold  of  the  good  Shepherd,  and  now  she 
was  pleading  with  more  eloquence  and  power  than  he  could 
have  done,  in  behalf  of  one  whose  heart  he  had  not  hitherto 
been  able  to  reach.  From  the  loft  of  the  old  barn  he  had 
carried  to  his  home  a  new  supply  of  hope  'and  strength  to 
buoy  him  up  amid  the  waves  of  wickedness  by  which  he  was 
surrounded. 


KATE   WESTON.  257 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  No  Alice,  I  won't  have  Dr.  Currer.  I  don't  want  him. 
I  want  Edward  Clarence.  Mr.  Pufton  says  he'll  do  me  more 
good  than  all  the  doctors  in  New  York.  He  promised  to  go 
up  to  Newburgh  after  him  to-day." 

"  But  Clarence,  Mother  says  it  will  be  inconvenient  for  him 
to  leave  Laconia.  You  must  remember  he  has  a  practice  to 
attend  to  there." 

•  "  I  don't  care,"  cried  the  boy,  petulantly,  "  I  want  him  here, 
and  you  don't  any  of  you  care  a  straw  about  me,  or  " — 

"  Oh,  Clary !"  cried  his  sister,  reproachfully,  "  your  sickness 
makes  you  exacting.  I  think  myself  it  would  be  hardly  right 
to  send  for  him  to  come  away  from  his  other  patients." 

"  Pshaw  !"  cried  Clarence,  pushing  her  roughly  away,  "  you 
care  more  about  everybody  else  than  me." 

Alice  burst  into  tears,  and  flew  down  stairs  to  her  mother's 
room.  "  Mother,"  she  said,  sobbing,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 
Clary's  temper  ?  I  never  saw  anybody  alter  so  much  in  all 
my  life.  He  is  so  cross  lately  that  he  seems  hardly  to  love 
me  any  more,  when  there's  nothing  under  the  sun  I  wouldn't 
do  for  him." 

Her  mother  sighed  heavily,  "  His  disease,  my  child,  wears 
so  upon  his  mind,  and  you  know  it  is  a  terrible  affliction  to  be 
blind." 

"  But  mother,  he  wasn't  so  at  first,  at  all.  I  wish  he  would 
give  up  taking  brandy  and  wine.  He's  scarcely  ever  entirely 
free  from  its  effects,  and  I  believe  it's  that." 

Mrs.  Ainslie  sighed  again.     "I  wish  we  had  never  given 


258  KATE    WESTON. 

it  him  at  all.  He  has  taken  it  now  for  two  years,  and  I'm 
afraid  it  would  hardly  do  for  him  to  leave  off." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Alice,  "  when  Dr.  Currer  came  that 
first  time  he  ever  used  it,  he  shook  his  head,  and  looked  very 
grave.  But  he  did  not  hinder  his  taking  it  afterwards." 

"  I  suppose,  my  dear,  he  felt  afraid  of  after  consequences, 
but  found  the  relief  so  immediate  at  the  time  as  to  render  him 
willing  to  hazard  the  application.  No  one  can  foresee  the 
danger  in  such  matters  as  those." 

"  I  believe  Kate  and  Arthur  are  about  right,  after  all,"  said 
Alice,  thoughtfully,  wiping  away  her  tears.  "  It  isn't  safe  to 
drink  at  all.  I  wonder  if  we  couldn't  tiy  to  keep  it  away 
from  Clary  ?" 

"  I  have  just  been  thinking  it  over,"  answered  her  mother ; 
"  to-day  I  spoke  to  your  father  about  it,  and  he  thought  we 
might  venture  to  try  it.  I  think  I  shall  tell  him  that  if  he  will 
not  touch  a  drop  for  two  days,  I  will  accept  Mr.  Pufton's  offer 
to  go  up  the  river  for  Dr.  Clarence." 

The  second  day  after  that,  Mr.  Pufton  accordingly  started 
on  the  mission,  which  was  no  less  pleasing  to  him  than 
agreeable  to  Clarence.  He  reached  Laconia  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  was  about  proceeding  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Jeremiah -Clarence.  As  he  passed  up  the  principal  street  of 
the  village,  his  steps  were  arrested  in  front  of  the  old  town 
hall,  by  the  sound  of  a  clear  ringing  voice  addressing  the 
audience  within.  It  required  but  a  moment's  attention  to 
make  the  dumpling  gentleman  whisk  about  and  puff  his  way 
into  the  hall  among  the  crowd  that  hung  with  breathless 
interest  upon  the  words  of  the  speaker.  As  Mr.  Pufton  list- 
ened, tears  glistened  in  his  eyes,  and  his  big  heart  almost  burst 
from  his  little  body.  Edward  Pufton  Clarence,  his  namesake, 
his  pet,  was  chaining  the  eager  attention  of  six  hundred 
delighted  auditors. 

It  was  an  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  persecuted  Portuguese 
refugees  that  he  was  delivering.  The  hall  was  filled  with 


KATE    WESTON.  259 

ladies  and  gentlemen  from  every  grade  of  Laconia  society. 
Tender  hearts  melted  beneath  his  eloquence,  and  even  men  of 
stern  brow  and  rigid  lip,  let  fall  now  and  then  a  tear  of  pity 
as  he  pointed  to  the  homeless  wanderers,  hunted  from  the 
country  of  their  birth,  torn  from  the  bosom  of  friends,  driven 
out  upon  the  world's  waste  to  seek  the  daily  bread  that  should 
keep  death  from  completing  the  cruel  work  that  tyranny  had 
begun. 

Words  alone  seemed  totally  insufficient  to  express  his  ideas. 
The  lightning  of  the  dark  eye,  the  quivering  of  the  chiselled 
lip,  the  heart-light  flashing  over  every  feature  of  the  intel- 
lectual face  ;  the  life  thrown  into  every  sentence  and  word»by 
the  graceful,  excited  motions  of  the  speaker,  the  ringing  tones 
of  a  voice  musical  as  the  chime  of  a  silver  bell,  all  these  ren- 
dered the  excited  youth  utterly  irresistible,  not  only  to  the 
young  and  impulsive,  but  to  men  who  had  listened  unmoved 
to  the  harangues  of  learned  statesmen  and  eloquent  divines. 

It  were  difficult  to  tell  whose  bosom  heaved  highest  with 
delighted  pride,  and  almost  adoring  love.  Whether  the  great- 
hearted farmer  father,  every  now  and  then  whisking  the  red 
bandana  to  his  eyes,  and  then  blowing  his  nose  vehemently 
to  hide  the  shame  of  crying  at  the  speeches  of  his  own  son ; 
the  sisters  weeping  uncontrolledly  in  spite  of  themselves,  Mr. 
Pufton  bobbing  his  head  inconceivably,  and  rubbing  his  eyes 
till  they  were  actually  redder  than  his  nose  ;  or  sweet  Kate 
Weston,  sitting  quietly  beside  her  mother,  with  that  intense 
lustre  of  eye  and  cheek,  looking,  as  the  soft  light  streamed 
over  her  golden  hair  and  placid  brow,  the  true  embodiment 
of  woman's  purity. 

But  when,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  address,  the  speaker, 
stretching  forth  his  hands  to  the  audience,  and  in  such  tones 
as  a  yearning  mother  would  have  pleaded  for  her  child,  poured 
out  his  earnest  soul,  not  one  who  listened  but  had  forgotten 
the  speaker,  themselves,  everything,  in  the  absorbing  interest 
of  the  theme. 


260  KATE    WESTON. 

"  They  are  passing  for  ever  away  from  the  shelter  of  their 
homes,  bruised  under  the  foot  of  their  own  countryman,  pro- 
nounced accursed  of  their  own  brother.  The  wide  sea  holds 
them  now.  Outcast  and  ruined,  no  land  welcomes  them  to 
its  embrace.  Children  of  the  Puritans,  they  have  trodden  in 
the  very  footprints  of  your  fathers.  Are  not  your  hearts 
yearning  to  greet  them  ?  Shall  the  mother  clasp  her  babe  to 
her  bosom,  and  cry  to  you  in  vain  for  a  foothold  on  your 
shores?  Shall  the  husband  and  father,  robbed  of  shelter  for 
his  best  beloved,  look  out  upon  the  shiftless  ocean,  and  feel 
that  there  alone  he  has  a  right  to  dwell  ?  Shall  the  rosy  child 
weep  for  the  vineyards  and  the  orange  groves  of  home  ? 
Shall  the  maiden,  bravely  leaving  her  lover  for  her  God,  find  like 
the  weary  dove,  no  rest  for  her  foot  in  all  the  beautiful  earth  ? 
No !"  and  here  the  voice  of  the  speaker  swelled  to  a  trumpet- 
tone,  "  by  all  we  cherish,  no !  The  children  of  those  who 
moored  their  bark  on  our  New  England  shore  send  out  a  shout 
of  welcome  to  the  heroic  band.  Brethren  by  the  links  of  a 
common  humanity,  they  are  ten  times  ours  by  the  claim  upon 
our  sympathy.  As  such,  we  wait  with  outstretched  arms  to 
take  them  to  our  hearts.  Let  us  take  no  sleep  to  our  eyes, 
nor  slumber  to  our  eyelids,  till  we  have  found  a  home  for  the 
exiles  in  the  breast  of  our  own  free  country.  From  us  they 
shall  have  love,  tenderness,  and  assistance.  Here  shall  be 
none  to  molest  or  make  afraid,  for  they  who  wept  and  prayed 
on  Plymouth  Rock 

"  Have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found 
Freedom  to  worship  God." 

Say,  when  De  Silva  and  his  martyr  band  touch  the  soil  of 
America  shall  they  not  find  a  home  ?  A  home,  in  whose  bound- 
less forests  and  human  hearts  the  joys  and  sufferings  of  their 
native  isle  shall  together  be  forgotten  ?  A  home  where  the 
voice  of  prayer  and  the  song  of  praise  shall  rise  unchecked 
to  Heaven  ?  A  home  loved  of  man,  and  blest  of  God. 


KATE    WESTON.  261 

"  Bless  the  boy,  I  shall  live  to  see  him  President  yet !"  cried 
Mr.  Pufton,  catching  Mr.  Jeremiah  by  the  arm  as  he  was 
going  out.  "  'Pon  my  soul  now,  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing, 
sir,  couldn't  have  dreamed  of  it,  sir.  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Inside  there,"  answered  Mr.  Clarence,  "  counting  up  the 
subscriptions ;  but  where  are  you  from,  Pufton  ?  I'm  right  glad 
to  see  you ;  wait,  let  me  take  you  to  Mary  and  Jennie." 

Mr.  Pufton  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Terry  and  the  Westons, 
kissed  Mary  and  Kate  with  as  much  ardor  as  though  he  had 
been  desperately  in  love  with  both  of  them,  and  fidgeted 
woefully  at  Edward's  detention  with  the  Committee.  "  Kate, 
you  little  rosebud,  I  haven't  seen  you  in  a  year ;  you  are  exclu- 
sive, too  exclusive  altogether,  shutting  yourself  up  here  in 
Laconia  so  long.  Bless  me,  you've  grown  lovelier  every  day ; 
pardon  me,  Pufton's  a  privileged  character,  you  know." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mary,  laughing,  "  or  we  shouldn't  be 
always  so  delighted  to  see  so  egregious  a  flatterer." 

"  No  my  dear,"  he  answered,  glancing  impatiently  over  to 
Edward,  "  I  never  say  anything  but  what  I  mean  ;"  then  bow- 
ing to  Mrs.  Weston,  he  added,  "  you  know  that  ma'am,  you 
can't  help  knowing,  ma'am." 

At  this  moment  Edward  stepped  away  from  the  group  that 
surrounded  the  stage.  Mr.  Pufton  was  watching,  and  paddled 
away  fast  as  his  little  legs  would  carry  him. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  catching  nervously  at  both 
hands ;  "  the  happiest  day  of  my  life ;  you  will  be  another 
Webster  yet,  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it ;  I'm  proud  of  you ; 
yes,  proud  as  your  own  father  there." 

"  Don't  flatter  me,  Mr.  Pufton ;  it  was  a  subject  that  might 
well  kindle  feeling  in  the  breast  of  a  child  of  the  Puritans. 
Indeed,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  refrain  from  expressing 
the  feelings  on  such  an  occasion.  But  how  came  you  here, 
dear  sir  ?  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  Laconia." 

"  Nor  I  wasn't  till  an  hour  ago,  my  boy,  but  I  wouldn't 
ha'  missed  that  for  fifty  dollars,  nor  for  five  hundred  either. 


262  KATE   WESTON. 

Expressing  the  feelings,'  you  say.'  Yes,  expressing  the  feelings, 
that's  it,  sir,"  he  continued,  keeping  tight  hold  of  Edward's 
hand,  but  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Weston.  "  This  boy's  got 
the  heart,  sir.  Yes  sir.  The  heart  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  true 
oratory,  sir.  Noble' boy,  sir.  Heaven'll  bless  him,  sir.  You 
know  it,  sir ;  you  can't  help  but  know  it,  sir." 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Flip  was  awaiting  them  at  the  door.  "  Dr. 
Clarence,"  he  remarked  in  one  of  his  blandest  tones,  "  excuse 
me  for  interrupting  you ;  I  merely  wish  to  extend  to  yourself, 
your  father,  Mr.  Weston,  and  your  friend,  Mr.  Pufton  I  believe, 
(bowing  politely  to  that  gentleman)  an  invitation  in  behalf  of 
Judge  Reid  and  myself  to  partake  of  an  oyster-supper  in 
the  upper  saloon.  It  is  to-night  reserved  exclusively  to  our- 
selves." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Edward,  smiling,  "  we  shall  be  happy 
to  do  ourselves  the  honor, — at  least,  I  speak  for  myself,"  he 
added  quickly,  glancing  at  Mr.  Weston  and  his  father. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Flip,  for  your  good  intention,"  answered 
Mr.  Jeremiah  promptly;  "but  you  know  my  opinion  of  Gamp 
and  his  business,  and  if  I  could  only  enlist  my  son  heart  and 
hand  on  my  side  of  the  contest,  I  think  he  might  prove  a 
more  efficient  opponent  than  his  old  father."  Mr.  Weston 
shook  his  head  with  a  gentle  "  Friend  Flip,  I  pray  thee  lead 
not  our  boy  here  into  the  snare ;  these  things  are  not  safe, — 
not  safe." 

It  would  have  been  strange  if  a  young  man  with  an  ordinary 
share  of  vanity  had  not  felt  considerably  flattered  by  such  an 
honor  from  such  a  quarter.  He  did  not  notice  the  shadow 
that  flitted  over  the  face  of  Kate,  or  the  half-doubtful  look  of 
his  father  as  he  accepted  the  invitation.  "  Excuse  me,  sir," 
he  said,  as  they  descended  the  steps,  "  I  will  be  with  you  in 
half  an  hour."  Mr.  Pufton  had  gone  in  advance  with  Mr. 
Jeremiah,  and  Mary  was  chatting  something  very  earnestly  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston,  so  that  Kate  and  Edward  were  left 
to  walk  alone.  "  If  you  are  going,  you  need  not  wait  to  walk 


KATE    WESTON.  263 

with  me,  but  I  wish  you  would  not  go,"  she  said,  pausing  a 
moment. 

"Nonsense,  Katie,  you  are  a  bigoted  little  lady,"  an- 
swered Edward,  drawing  the  small  hand  into  his  arm,  "but 
you  didn't  think  I  would  miss  going  home  with  you ;  you 
know  I  care  more  for  your  society  than  fifty  oyster-suppers. 
We  collected  a  hundred  dollars,  Kate,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
refugees." 

"That  is  double  what  I  expected,"  said  Kate.  "But 

your  eloquence" her  voice  chocked  and  she  burst  into 

tears. 

"  Why  darling,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  said  he,  looking  down 
at  the  sweet  profile,  lovelier  in  the  soft  moonlight,  "I  thought 
you  would  be  pleased  to-night,  because  " 

"Edward,  dear  Edward,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  feeling.  "  Pleased !  how  could  I  even  hope  that  your 
boyish  eloquence,  always  before  my  pride  and  admiration, 
would  so  surpass  itself  on  this  first  occasion  of  a  public  dis- 
play. When  I  saw  stern  men  weep  at  your  burning  words, 
and  forgot  even  my  Edward  in  the  cause  he  was  pleading, 
pride,  hope,  fear,  almost  overpowered  me." 

"  There,  Katie,"  said  Edward  tenderly,  "  you  are  excited 
with  the  subject  now.  How  could  I  help  being  so  at  the 
time  ?  You  are  trembling,  not  altogether  from  joy  either, 
I'm  afraid,"  he  added,  as  a  fresh  flood  of  tears  gushed  forth ; 
"  what  is  it,  dearest,  tell  me?" 

The  young  girl  turned  up  her  tearful  face  to  his ;  there  was 
such  a  restless,  nervous  agitation  in  her  glance  that  it 
astonished  him.  It  was  like  a  tempest  on  the  placid  bosom 
of  some  lake  whose  waters  we  had  deemed  no  winds  could 
lash  into  a  storm.  She  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes ;  at 
last  with  a  strong  effort  she  pressed  back  the  tears. 

"  Edward,"  she  commenced  with  a  choking  voice,  that  grew 
calmer  as  she  proceeded,  "dearest  Edward,  forgive  me;  I 
know  it  is  unpleasant  for  you  to  hear  what  I  am  going  to 


264  KATE    WESTOX. 

say,  when  you  think  I  should  use  no  words  but  those 
of  praise.  It  cannot  give  you  more  pain  to  hear  than  it  will 
give  me  to  say  anything  that  might  trouble  you.  But  it  is 
the  very  depth  of  iny  love,  Edward,  that  impels  me  to  speak. 
When  I  saw  your  eye  kindle,  and  your  bosom  heave,  when  I 
felt  in  common  with  all  your  audience,  my  whole  soul  borne 
along  in  the  current  of  your  rushing  feelings,  when  I  gloried 
in  the  subtle,  resistless  impulse  which  at  that  moment,  would 
have  defied  your  powder  and  ours  alike  to  quell ;  at  that  very 
instant  I  felt  a  pang,  keen  as  an  arrow,  shoot  through  my 
heart.  Those  very  waves  of  impulse,  sweeping  to-night  all 
barriers' from  the  path  of  the  sufferers,  in  wrhose  behalf  your 
generous  soul  was  so  nobly  roused — will  they  not  be  a  snare  to 
you  in  the  path  you  are  treading?  Do  you  think  the  'Prince 
of  the  power  of  the  air'  will  leave  such  talents  to  work 
always  good,  good  only?  Is  there  not  already  some  bait  cast 
daily  in  your  way  that  you  have  no  power  to  resist  ?  Do  not 
the  young  men  with  whom  you  associate  lead  you  further 
from  the  only  true  safety.  Oh !  my  own  Edward,  will  you 
not  thrust  aside  the  great  enemy  to  such  natures  as  yours.  I 
know,  as  though  an  angel  had  told  me,  that  iron  chains  and 
prison-bars  would  be  but  rotten  cords  beside  the  fetters  that 
strong  drink  will  wind  about  you,  if  you  do  not  declare  eter- 
nal war  to  its  insidious  influence." 

She  paused ;  the  clasp  of  her  small  hand  had  tightened  on 
his  arm ;  the  eager  voice,  the  tremulous  step  were  appealing 
to  his  heart  almost  as  powerfully  as  those  burning  words. 
He  unloosed  her  hand,  and  held  it  soothingly  in  his  own. 
His  face  was  very  grave  as  they  walked  silently  on  together ; 
he  was  thinking  of  the  brilliantly-lighted  room,  the  glowing 
wine,  the  card-table,  the  spirited  company  whose  very  idol  he 
had  come  to  be,  and  wondering  to  himself  if  the  words  of 
Kate  were  true.  He  had  felt  before  a  secret  inner  conscious- 
ness of  the  fascination  these  possessed  for  him — dread  of  the 
future,  never.  But  now,  like  a  prophet's  words,  those  sweet 


KATE    WESTON.  265 

quivering  tones  sank  into  his  heart,  wakening  doubt  and  mis- 
trust of  his  own  power  of  resisting  evil. 

The  rest  were  far  ahead  of  them  now,  so  that  they  were 
walking  alone.  Kate  at  length  continued  :  "  Edward,  believe 
me,  none  but  those  that  buckle  on  the  armor  of  salvation,  and 
keep  their  eye  fixed  steadfastly  upon  a  Savior's  image,  can 
resist  successfully  the  temptations  that  lie  around  them.  Oh, 
Edward,  '  look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it 
giveth  its  color  in  the  cup,  when  it  moveth  itself  aright ;  for 
at  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an 
adder.' " 

For  an  instant  she  paused  again,  then  suddenly  arresting  her 
steps,  she  drew  her  arm  from  his,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  heaven :  "  Edward,  never  was  the  love  of 
woman  purer,  truer  than  mine.  Nothing  on  earth  but  I  would 
sacrifice  for  you.  But  hear  me ;  by  the  moon  and  stars  above 
us,  I  would  rather  never  look  upon  your  face,  or  listen  to  your 
voice  again,  than  have  you  continue  in  the  path  you  are  tread- 
ing now.  My  heart  glories  in  your  genius,  as  it  sways  to  its 
will  the  sympathies  of  others.  But  I  would  rather  see  you 
stricken  dumb  for  ever,  than  still  exposed  in  such  society  as 
lures  you  now.  Promise  me,  Edward,"  she  cried,  again  clasp- 
ing his  hand  in  both  of  hers,  "  you  will  leave  them,  you  will 
prove  that  you  love  me." 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  Edward's  tone,  although  tears 
filled  his  softened  eyes,  as  he  tenderly  laid  his  arm  around  her, 
and  drew  her  on.  "  I  will,  Katie,  can  you  doubt  me  ?  Had 
I  known  that  your  feelings  were  so  intense  upon  this  subject, 
I  would  not  have  hesitated  in  giving  up  all  for  you.  I  do  not 
fear  for  myself,  I  think  there  is  very  little  danger,  but  for 
your  sake,  darling,  you  shall  not  be  so  pained  again.  To- 
night my  promise  must  be  fulfilled,  but  after  this  I  will  never 
accept  such  invitations." 

They  were  by  this  time  almost  at  Mr.  Weston's  door,  and 
were  interrupted  by  Mary's  running  back  to  meet  them.  She 
12 


266  KATE    -WESTOX. 

did  not  notice  Kate's  excited  face  and  tearful  eyes,  but  danced 
up  to  Edward's  side,  crying  gaily,  "  Well,  now  you  are  down 
off  your  high  stilts,  I  suppose  you'll  condescend  to  speak  to 
common  people.  Here,  give  me  a  good-night  kiss ;  my  dear 
little  fat  Mr.  Pufton'll  be  desperately  jealous  if  I  don't  hurry 
on,  for  I  told  him — but  see  here,  Ned,  isn't  he  going  with 
you  ?" 

"Certainly,  I  thought  so,"  said  Edward;  "has  he  gone  on?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  but  he's  so  fat  it  won't  take  me  two 
minutes  to  catch  him  up,  and  send  him  back.  I  suppose  he 
thought  you  cared  enough  about  me  to  walk  home  with  me, 
and  so  I  think  you  ought,  but  alas — well,"  she  said  quickly 
with  a  half  pout,  "  come,  give  me  a  kiss,  for  I'm  sure  those 
big  bugs'll  smother  you  with  compliments,  so  that  I  actually 
doubt  if  you  come  home  alive.  Good  night  Kate.  Don't 
you  grow  too  vain  now,  Ned,  you're  nothing  remarkable  after 
all." 

The  frolicsome  girl  kissed  Edward  and  Kate  energetically, 
and  flew  off  along  the  road,  calling  out,  "  Wait  there,  till  I 
send  Mr.  Pufton.  No  fear  of  his  getting  impatient,  unless 
you  run  away,  Kate." 

Kate  led  him  a  short  distance  into  the  garden. 

They  stood"  together  beneath  a  laburnum  that  scattered  its 
golden  shower  at  their  feet,  while  overtopping  that,  were  the 
spreading  branches  of  a  linden-tree,  that  grew  just  on  the 
other  side  the  walk.  "  Edward,"  said  Kate,  now  calmed  to 
her  wonted  earnest  gentleness,  "  I  have  heard  my  father  say 
that  tree  was  planted  on  the  day  you  were  born.  You  are 
like  it  now,  young,  vigorous,  unbent.  I  take  your  promise 
here  beneath  its  branches,  and  here  I  shall  come  every  day,  to 
pray  God  that  it  may  be  faithfully  kept ;  that  the  tree  crowned 
with  beauty  in  youth,  may  increase  in  strength  and  verdure 
till  a  crown  of  glory  shall  hallow  its  age." 

Edward  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  "  Good  night,  Kate. 
The  man  must  be  a  brute  who  would  gratify  a  mere  inclina- 


KATE    WESTOX.  26'< 

tion  at  the  sacrifice  of  an  angel's  peace.  You  told  me  once 
I  did  not  know  you.  I  did  not  know  you.  You  have 
astonished  me ;  I  see  before  me  a  nobler  prize  than  my  high- 
est aspirations  could  have  hoped  to  win.  God  bless  you, 
darling." 

He  turned  away  and  left  her  standing  there ;  she  passed 
quietly  into  the  house,  and  slipped  up  to  her  chamber.  Why, 
in  thinking  over  the  words  he  had  spoken,  did  a  painful  mis- 
giving thrill  her  heart,  spite  of  the  joy  she  felt  at  his  promise. 
"  /  have  no  fear,  but  for  your  sake,  Kate,"  rung  still  in  her  ear. 
"  Only  for  my  sake,"  she  murmured,  "  not  for  his  own  ?  not 
for  the  sake  of  Him  whose  blood  was  shed  on  Calvary  ?  then 
he  is  not  safe." 

Edward  walked  away  with  Mr.  Pufton,  strangely  absent,  as 
that  gentleman  thought,  considering  his  own  eagerness.  His 
mind  was  dwelling  on  that  pure  face,  uplifted  in  the  moon- 
light, and  on  those  eloquent  words,  so  fraught  with  passionate 
hope,  and  fear,  and  love ;  gushing  from  a  heart  whose  depth 
he  had  never  known,  whose  purity  he  had  but  half-conceived. 
For  that  heart,  he  felt  nerved  to  relinquish  the  society  that 
adored  him ;  the  praise  and  honor  lavished  upon  his  head ; 
the  cup  whose  fascinating  draught  had  already  gained  a 
powerful  hold  upon  his  senses.  All  this  for  her.  Alas  ! 
Edward,  hadst  thou  no  higher  aim  ? 

The  upper  room  of  Gamp's  establishment  had  been  fitted 
by  the  proprietor  with  an  elegance  very  rarely  equalled,  even 
in  similar  city  resorts.  Laconia  embraced  in  its  limited  circles 
a  large  proportion  of  select  society,  families  of  ample  means 
and  cultivated  taste,  for  whose  gentleman  members,  the 
younger  portion  particularly,  the  velvet  carpets,  plate-glass 
mirrors,  and  fine  plush  lounges,  were  intended  as  a  lure  to 
draw  them  from  the  retirement  of  country  homes  to  the 
excitement  of  the  evening  club,  or  the  more  dangerous  card 
party. 

As  Dr.  Clarence  and  his  friend  entered  the  room  they  were 


268  KATE    WESTON. 

greeted  by  a  full  blaze  of  light,  and  a  murmur  of  applause. 
Mr.  Pufton  was  formally  introduced,  and  Judge  Reid  shook 
hands,  remarking,  "  You  are  welcome,  sir,  any  friend  of  our 
young  friend  is  welcome  to-night.  We  are  quite  proud  of 
him." 

"  So  you  ought,  sir, — yes,  sir — heart  spoke  out  there,  sir, 
— not  always  the  heart  that  speaks  in  the  court-room,  sir, 
or  Senate,  either,  sir, — the  boy's  got  head  and  heart  both, 
sir." 

Young  Clarence  had  passed  over  to  the  other  end  of  the 
hall,  to  where  Steele  and  young  Eeid,  now  a  half-way  lawyer, 
sat  engaged  in  some  argument.  "  Happy  to  thee  you,  Dr. 
Clarence ;  take  a  theat  here.  I  Avath  charmed  with  your 
addreth  thith  evening.  Indeed,  I  alwayth  conthidered  you  a 
geniuth." 

"  Good  evening,  Dr."  said  Steele,  with  a  warm  grasp  of  the 
hand,  "  I  congratulate  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Edward,  seating  himself,  "  but  excuse 
me,  I  have  interrupted  an  agreeable  conversation." 

"  "We  were  dithcuthing  the  propriety  of  card-playing,  thir ; 
Mithter  Shteele  thinkth  it  wrong,  and  hath  retholved  to 
denounthe  it  in  the  Laconia  Gathette." 

"  What,  when  not  played  for  money  ?"  asked  Clarence. 

"  Wait,"  said  Mr.  Steele,  who,  by  the  way,  had  laid  aside 
the  tall  shirt-collar  and  his  bashfulness  together,  long  before 
he  had  emerged  from  college,  "wait,  and  you'll  see  how 
long  cards  will  be  played  here  without  money.  Do  you 
suppose  that  cunning  Gamp  ever  took  all  this  pains  for 
nothing?" 

"  You  are  probably  right,"  said  the  young  doctor,  thought- 
fully, "  on  that  as  well  as  your  total  abstinence  views." 

Mr.  Reid  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "  Mithter  Thteele,  can 
you  ecthpect  thupport  in  thuch  peculiar  measures !" 

"  I  have,  I  am  sure,  one  or  two  supporters,  even  here,  and 
in  the  village  many.  My  little  paper  has  already  been  made 


KATE    WESTON.  269 

the  medium  for  several  stanch  temperance  men  to  advocate 
their  views." 

"  How  strange  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Edward,  "  that 
you,  who  were,  only  three  years  ago,  as  bashful  a  fellow  as 
ever  I  saw,  should  so  boldly  stand  out  in  the  very  front  of  the 
battle  now." 

"  Oh,"  said  Steele,  laughing,  "  I  was  a  very  fresh  Green- 
mountain  boy,  you  know,  and  it  took  some  time  to  wear  off 
the  rust.  I  have  also  labored  earnestly,"  he  continued,  in  a 
graver  tone,  "  to  cast  aside  anything  that  may  lie  between 
me  and  the  work  that  God  has  given  me  to  do." 

A  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  the  only  answer  Reid 
vouchsafed ;  the  young  doctor  looked  earnestly  at  him  for  a 
minute,  then  exclaimed  with  emotion,  "  My  dear  Steele,  I  wish 
I  were  like  you !" 

"  And  I  wish  I  were  like  you !"  answered  the  young  editor, 
with  equal  warmth.  "  If  I  had  your  talents  and  your  heart 
to  support  my  principles,  I  could  accomplish  anything." 

"Better  go  into  partnerthip,"  said  Reid,  with  a  half- 
sneer.  "  Thuch  talents  and  thuch  printhipleth  shouldn't  be 
wathted." 

Edward  colored  slightly,  but  Steele  calmly  answered,  "  If 
I  could  persuade  my  friend  to  view  things  as  I  view  them,  I 
should  have  no  fear  but  he'd  bring  Laconia  to  its  senses  after 
a  while." 

"  I  have  respect  for  your  sentiments,  Steele,  but  really,  I 
think  it  would  be  labor  in  vain  to  attempt  stemming  such  a 
tide  of  popular  feeling,  as,  in  such  a  case,  a  man  must  always 
encounter." 

"Well,"  interposed  Reid,  with  as  much  earnestness  as  he 
was  capable  of  assuming,  "there  come  the  oythterth;  the 
latht  dish,  I  believe ;  demme,  I'm  half  thtarved,  as  the  thay- 
ing  goes." 

The  supper-table  was  spread  with  the  most  exquisite  tact, 
the  various  methods  in  which  the  oysters  were  served  being 


270  KATE    WESTOX. 

pronounced  by  the  connoisseurs  present  exquisite  superb, 
capital.  Wine  and  mirth  flew  around  the  table,  while  the 
grave  judges  and  lawyers  laid  aside  their  dignity,  and  joined 
in  the  general  jollity.  Toasts  and  compliments  enough  to 
have  turned  the  head  of  a  less  sensible  youth,  were  showered 
upon  Dr.  Clarence  and  his  maiden  speech. 

Mr.  Pufton  and  his  young  friend  walked  home  after  the 
supper  in  exuberant  spirits,  and  each  entertaining  a  very 
exalted  opinion  of  the  other's  powers.  Mr.  Pufton  had,  dur- 
ing the  evening,  frisked  about  so  delightedly,  spoken  such 
witty  little  speeches,  performed  such  comical  little  pantomimes, 
and  made  himself  generally  so  agreeable  and  amusing  that  he 
had  been,  as  he  always  was,  set  down  as  one  of  the  cleverest, 
noblest-hearted  fellows  in  the  world.  Of  Edward's  perform- 
ances, his  admiration  knew  no  bounds.  "  He  would  be 
another  Webster  yet,  or  Clay — not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it." 
The  little  gentleman  even  went  so  far  in  his  excitement  as  to 
invite  himself  to  the  White  House  in  the  event  of  President 
Clarence  coming  into  office. 

As  they  again  passed  Squire  Weston's  house  looking  so 
calm  and  peaceful  in  the  moonlight,  a  half  pang  struck  to 
Edward's  heart  He  knew  that  he  was  slightly  intoxicated  ; 
slightly,  for  his  first  disgraceful  lesson  had  taught  him  caution, 
and  he  had  learned  to  partake  far  more  freely  of  wine  than  at 
first,  without  noticing  its  effects.  He  felt  and  loved  the  eager 
glow  it  had  kindled  within  him ;  the  wild  excitement,  the 
soaring  fancy,  linking  itself  almost  to  the  spirit  world.  In  the 
consciousness  that  he  did  feel  and  love  it,  lay  that  sudden  mis- 
giving of  his  power  to  resist  it's  influence.  But  man,  in  the 
pride  of  an  unrenewed  heart,  tramples  down  the  fear  of  peril ; 
the  next  thought  planted  the  foot  more  firmly,  and  made 
the  proud,  beautiful  lip  curl  scornfully  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  momentary  weakness. 


KATE    WESTON.  27l 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  AH,  Clarence,  my  boy,  how  are  you  ?"  said  Edward  on 
the  following  day,  as  'he  entered  the  blind  boy's  chamber. 

The  sightless  eyes  turned  eagerly  towards  him,  and  an 
expression  of  joy  passed  over  his  face.  "  Oh !  I  have  been 
wanting  so  to-  have  you  here.  It's  so  long  since  you  came." 

"  Yes,  Clarence,  it  is  over  a  year  now.  I  don't  know  when 
I've  been  so  long  away  before ;  how  you  have  grown ;  you  are 
almost  as  tall  as  L" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Clarence,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  shall  be  sixteen 
years  old  next  week.  I  feel  so  wretchedly  to-day ;  do  you 
think  I  shall  ever  be  cured  of  these  convulsions !  It  almost 
kills  me  to  have  them  so  dreadfully,  and  I'm  so  nervous  after- 
wards, oh  dear !" 

Edward  looked  pityingly  at  the  pale,  unhappy  face.  "  Poor 
Clarence  !  I'm  so  sorry  for  you.  Time  alone  can  determine 
certainly  whether  your  disease  is  curable.  But,"  he 'added, 
in  a  more  cheerful  tone,  "  you  are  to  forget  all  your  troubles 
while  I  am  here.  That's  what  I  came  for,  you  know." 

"  And  it  wasn't  a  trouble  for  you  to  come  ?"  he  asked,  anx- 
iously. "  Alice  said  so." 

"  Trouble,  no !  I  was  very  anxious  to  come.  The  only 
reason  I  didn't  come  before  was  because  my  practice  detained 
me." 

"Well,  that  was  it.  They  said  you  would  not  want  to 
leave  your  patients  to  come  to  me." 

"  The  patients  may  take  care  of  themselves  for  a  day  or 
two,"  said  the  young  doctor,  cheerfully,  with  a  gentle 


272  KATE   WESTON. 

motion  of  the  hand  over  the  boy's  shaded  forehead.  "  I  want 
a  little  rest  now  and  then  ;  and  I'd  rather  come  to  see  you, 
my  dear  boy,  than  do  anything  else  in  the  wide  world." 

The  blind  boy  looked  pleased.  "Edward,"  he  said — "  would 
you  just  as  lief  I'd  call  you  Edward  yet  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Clarence,  rather ;  what  is  it  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  sit  down  here  and  let  me  feel 
your  face,  if  you  have  altered  any." 

Edward  complied,  while  his  young  friend  stood  in  front  of 
him,  and  passed  his  hands  over  his  face.  "You've  had  all 
your  curls  cut  off,"  he  said,  pausing  abruptly  at  the  forehead, 
with  a  look  of  blank  dismay. 

"Yes,"  said  Edward,  laughing.  "Why,  Clarence,  don't 
look  so  shocked ;  I'm  not  like  Sampson  ;  my  strength  doesn't 
lie  in  my  hair." 

"  But  you  won't  look  half  so  pretty,"  said  Clarence,  depre- 
catingly,  passing  his  hand  over  the  short  wavy  hair. 

"  Don't  worry  yourself,  Clarence ;  it  won't  stay  cut  very 
long.  A  month  will  give  me  a  chance  to  regain  the  charm." 

"  Oh,  what  splendid  whiskers  !  You've  got  whiskers.  How 
funny !" 

"  Clarence,  I  shall  lose  my  identity  if  I  stay  in  your  hands 
much  longer.  Don't  you  like  me  just  as  well  with  whiskers  2" 

"  Oh  yes  !"  was  the  answer,  "  only  " 

"Only  what?" 

"  Only  somehow  it  seems  as  though  you  were  a  man  now, 
and  I  nothing  but  a  boy ;  I'm  afraid  you  won't  think  so  much 
of  me." 

"  Because  my  whiskers  have  grown.  Ha — ha — ha !  Clar- 
ence, you  are  a  funny  boy." 

"  No,  that  isn't  exactly  it,  either,"  said  the  boy  a  little  impa- 
tiently. "  But  you  have  so  many  older  associates  now.  Fm 
afraid  you'll  forget  me." 

"  Never  !"  said  Edward,  a  tear  starting  to  his  eye.  "  You 
have,"  he  added,  passing  his  arm  affectionately  round  the 


KATE    WESTON.  273 

boy's  shoulder,  and  drawing  him  down  beside  him,  "you 
have  a  tenderer  claim  to  ray  affections  than  any  of  my  older 
friends." 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Clarence,  drawing  a  sigh 
of  relief.  "  All  my  companions  have  become  tired  of  me 
since  I  was  blind,  I  think.  They  scarcely  ever  come  to  see 
me  now,  and  when  they  do,  they  haven't  any  patience  with 
my  helplessness  and  nervousness.  But  there,  I  hear  mother 
and  Alice  coming  up  stairs." 

"You  stole  a  march  upon  us  all,  Clary,"  cried  his  sister, 
shaking  hands  with  Edward.  "  How  did  you  ever  contrive  to 
take  possession  of  the  doctor  without  our  knowing  it  ?" 

"  Don't  lay  it  to  Clary,"  said  Edward.  "  I  found  the  hall- 
door  open,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  Clarence  through  the 
door  just  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  made  bold  to  join  him  with- 
out ringing." 

"  How  much  you  have  altered !"  said  Mrs.  Ainslie.  "  The 
last  year  has  done  more  for  you  than  the  previous  half-dozen." 

"  Oh,  mother !"  cried  her  daughter,  "  half  a  dozen  is  a  good 
many.  I've  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  him,  however,  since 
he  commenced  sporting  that  appurtenance  to  man's  estate ; 
vastly  becoming,"  she  added,  smoothing  down  her  own  fair 
cheeks  with  a  mischievous  glance  at  Edward's  beard. 

"  But  how  are  they  all  at  Laconia  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Ainslie. 

"All  as  well  as  usual,"  he  answered.  "Mrs. Weston  talked 
of  coming  in  Avith  me,  but  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  her  to 
muster  sufficient  resolution  to  leave  home." 

"  We  have  been  hoping  for  a  visit  from  Kate,"  said  Mrs. 
Ainslie ;  "  but  somehow  she  has  absented  herself  for  over  a 
year  now." 

"  Which  no  doubt  accounts  for  the  absence  of  somebody 
else,"  said  Alice  gravely.  "  For  my  part,  I'm  getting  despe- 
rate. By  the  way,  didn't  you  bring  me  a  letter  from 
Kate?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,"  said  Edward, 
12* 


274  KATE    WESTON. 

handing  her  a  small  package,  that  he  took  from  his  side 
pocket. 

The  young  girl  danced  away  to  her  room  in  delight,  to 
read  the  precious  epistle,  while  Clarence  laid  his  head  upon 
Edward's  shoulder,  and  seemed  perfectly  at  ease. 

The  mother  gave  him  an  uneasy  look.  "  Clarence,  do  you 
feel  unwell  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  only  a  little  tired ;  how  glad  I  am  Edward  is 
here.  He's  going  to  tell  me  all  ahout  the  cricket-match  out 
at  Laconia,  and  the  supper,  and  the  Fourth  of  July  celebration. 
He  doesn't  get  out  of  patience  with  mo  as  everybody  else  does." 

"  Clarence !"  said  his  mother,  reproachfully. 

"  I  don't  mean  you,  mother,"  said  the  boy  quickly,  "  nor 
Alice,  but  all  the  .  boys.  They  v  don't  like  to  be  bothered, 
that's  all." 

"  Don't  you  think  Clarence  has  grown  ?"  said  Mrs.  Ainslie. 

"Very  rapidly,"  answered  the  young  physician;  "rather 
too  rapidly  for  his  good."  The  eyes  of  both  Edward  and  his 
mother  rested  for  an  instant  on  his  face,  then  involuntarily 
met,  and  each  read  in  the  other's  glance  a  death-knell  to  their 
hopes.  The  white  face  with  its  shadowy  lines  of  suffering  on 
cheek  and  brow,  had  totally  changed  its  expression  in  the  two 
years  of  his  illness.  In  place  of  the  firm,  yet  gentle  smile  about 
the  lips,  a  nervous  tremor  indicative  of  pain  and  impatience 
played  continually  about  his  mouth,  and  a  frown  just  between 
his  eyebrows  had  taken  the  place  of  boyhood's  early  calm. 
There  was  a  short  painful  silence,  interrupted  by  Clarence, 

"  Mother,  can  we  have  Father's  horse  this  afternoon  ?  You 
•will  take  me  out  to  ride,  won't  you,  Edward  2" 

"  Perhaps  Edward  is  otherwise  engaged,"  said  Mrs.  Ainslie. 
"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Edward,  "  it  would  afford  me  much 
pleasure  to  go  with  you  anywhere  you  like." 

"  I  do  love  to  ride  so,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly,  "  only  when 
John  drives  me,  he  goes  so  fast,  and  rides  through  such  noisy 
streets  that  I  don't  like  it  at  all.  I  used  to  want  to  ride 


KATE    WESTON.  275 

just  as  fast  as  ever  I  could,  but  now  it  makes  me  nervous, 
because  I  can't  see  where  I'm  going." 

"  Clarence,  my  son,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  think  you  had  bet- 
ter lie  down ;  you  look  wearied." 

"  I  will  come  with  you,"  said  Edward,  looking  earnestly  at 
the  sightless  eyes.  The  pupils  were  growing  unnaturally 
large,  and  a  bright  rose-color  was  flushing  up  into  the  pale 
cheeks.  He  was  hardly  thrown  upon  his  bed,  when  seized 
with  one  of  those  paroxysms  whose  painful  nature  was  so 
much  enhanced  by  the  electric  suddenness  of  their  appear- 
ance. With  fingers  working  convulsively,  teeth  ground  toge- 
ther, eyes  starting  almost  from  their  sockets,  the  unconscious 
boy  struggled  to  free  himself  from  the  firm  hand  of  Dr.  Cla- 
rence. "I  cannot  hold  him  much  longer,"  ejaculated  the 
latter  quickly,  as  the  convulsion  increased  in  violence,  "can 
you  call  in  help  ?" 

Alice  flew  down  after  the  coachman,  at  the  same  time  dis- 
patching a  servant  for  their  family  physician. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  the  usual  duration  of  his  par- 
oxysm, Clarence  seemed  more  violent  than  ever.  Even  his 
young  attendant,  striving  'to  calm  the  anxious  mother,  began 
to  be  seriously  alarmed,  while  John,  at  length  losing  all  self- 
possession,  exclaimed  half  aloud,  "He'll  never  come  to — he 
was  never  so  bad  afore."  Several  minutes  more  elapsed  before 
there  seemed  any  reaction.  At  one  time  he  had  nearly  defied 
the  strength  of  both  John  and  the  doctor,  but  at  length  the 
muscles  began  to  relax,  the  pain  to,  abate,  and  a  slight  con- 
sciousness to  steal  over  the  exhausted  sufferer.  For  a  few 
moments  he  looked  half  vacantly  about  him,  and  then  sank 
down  in  a  total  stupor. 

When  Dr.  Currer  arrived,  Mrs.  Ainslie  and  Edward  were 
still  rubbing  the  limbs  of  the  patient,  and  using  every 
effort  to  arouse  him  to  consciousness.  The  elder  physician 
approached  the  bedside,  inquiring  what  had  been  the  particu- 
lars of  his  attack.  They  informed  him  of  its  unusual  violence 


2*76  KATE    WESTON. 

and  duration,  and  also  of  the  remedies  they  had  administered. 
He  said  nothing,  but  gave  him  some  drops  of  ammonia,  and 
continued  in  concert  with  the  others  for  some  minutes,  endea- 
voring to  restore  him  by  rubbing,  chafing,  and  rolling  him 
gently  from  side  to  side.  At  length  Clarence  opened  his  eyes, 
and  moved  his  lips.  Dr.  Currer  took  from  his  pocket  a  vial 
whose  contents  he  emptied  into  a  tumbler,  mixed  with  water, 
and  immediately  administered.  It  was  some  little  time  before 
he  felt  warranted  in  leaving ;  before  he  did  so,  however,  he 
sought  a  few  moments'  private  conference  with  his  younger 
professional  brother. 

"  This  is  a  very  tiying  case,  sir,"  said  Edward,  with  moist 
eyes. 

"  Very,"  answered  Dr.  Currer.  "  In  all  my  practice,  I  have 
never  had  one  similar  to  it.  There  seems  some  peculiar  con- 
dition of  the  brain,  rendered  always  worse  by  these  convul- 
sions." 

"  I  presume,"  said  Edward  anxiously,  "  that  you  have  little 
hope  of  effecting  a  permanent  cure." 

"  No — no,"  said  the  physician,  shaking  his  head,  "  this  must 
destroy  him  in  a  few  years ;  but  it  is  our  duty  to  alleviate  his 
sufferings.  The  course  adopted  to-day  will  never  do.  His 
mother  consulted  me  a  few  days  ago  on  the  subject,  and  I 
consented  to  her  keeping  ardent  spirits  out  of  his  way  for  a 
trial.  The  trial  has  been  made,  and  proved  unsuccessful.  He 
could  not  survive  many  such  attacks  as  that." 

"You  think,  then,  that  no  stimulus  but  that  would  produce 
sufficient  effect  ?"  remarked  Edward. 

"  Not  now,"  was  the  answer.  "  It  might  have  been  pre- 
vented in  the  outset.  It  was  not  originally  administered  at  my 
suggestion,  you  recollect ;  it  proved  successful,  and  although 
I  had  misgivings,  I  continued  its  use." 

"  I  should  think  then,"  suggested  Edward,  "  it  would  be 
advisable  to  restrain  him  from  taking  it  at  any  other  time 
than  when  threatened  with  a  paroxysm." 


KATE    WESTON.  277 

"  Certainly,  you  are  right,"  answered  Dr.  Currer,  "  but  Low 
difficult  in  any  case  for  such  a  habit  to  be  overcome,  and  in 
no  case  so  difficult  as  this,  where  the  stimulus  is  not  only 
craved  but  actually  needed." 

So  Clarence  went  on.  in  his  old  way,  suffering  not  from  his 
disease  alone,  but  from  the  fearful  inroads  made  by  strong 
drink  upon  his  temper  and  constitution.  Growing  every 
day  more  unreasonable  and  violent,  suffering  constantly  from 
extreme  nervous  irritation,  and  craving,  as  time  wore  on,  a 
stimulus  more  and  more  powerful,  he  became  in  a  few  years 
totally  changed  from  the  gentle,  earnest  Clarence  of  earlier 
years. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of.  the  following  day,  Edward  and 
Clarence  returned  from  their  afternoon  drive.  The  blind  boy 
safely  deposited  in  the  house,  Edward  turned  to  watch  his 
horses  for  a  moment,  until  John  should  make  his  appear- 
ance. 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  and  the  side-walk  was  filled  with 
passengers  passing  to  their  respective  homes,  so  that  he  did 
not  notice  at  first  a  stout  woman  who  was  sitting  on  the 
steps  next  door,  talking  and  laughing  with  a  little  child.  As 
he  leaned  carelessly  upon  the  railing,  she  rose  and  approached 
him,  saying,  as  she  extended  her  broad  hand,  "  God  bliss  yer 
honor,  an'  how  did  ye  lave  all  the  folks  in  Laconia !" 

"  Ah !  Bridget,"  rejoined  Edward,  smiling,  as  he  returned 
her  hearty  shake,  "you  here?  All  as  well  as  usual,  I 
believe;  I  saw  Kitty  and  the  children  a  day  or  two  ago, 
and  when  I  drove  by  the  house  yesterday  I  saw  somebody 
turning  somersets  on  the  meadow,  so  " — 

"  Och,  yes  sir,  an'  Mike  will  niver  lave  alone  doin'  that 
same,  if  he  grows  as  big  as  the  Giant  of  Fincool,"  laughed 
Bridget ;  "  but  how's  your  father  an'  all  the  family,  and  Miss 
Kate,  bliss  her  swate  face,  intirely  ?" 

"  All  well,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Edward,  turning,  as  if 
to  leave  her. 


278  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Plase,  sir,"  she  said  quickly,  "  an'  I've  got  a  little  kindness 
I'll  be  afther  axin'  you,  an'  all  along  iv  remimberin'  how 
good  yer  honor  was  to  poor  Ann  Ryker  a  couple  o'  years 
ago.  Poor  Ann  !  sorra's  the  way  she's  getting  along  now ; 
but  as  I  was  afther  sayin',  it's  yerselfll  mind  the  poor  woman 
whose  child  you  was  good  enough  to  take  out  to  your  sister 
in  Laconia.  Shure,  an'  meselPd  niver  know  her,  at  all — at 
all,  only  she  met  me  one  day  in  the  street,  when  there  was 
nobody  forninst  us,  an'  didn't  she  catch  ho  wit  of  my  hand, 
an'  kiss  it,  saying,  all  the  time,  '  God'll  bless — bless  you — 
bless  you.  You  was  kind  to  Maggie,  God  will  bless  you.' 
Faith  an'  I  think  the  woman's  been  a  lady  some  day,  she  has 
such  a  grand  way,  intirely;  but  she  seems  a  sort  o'  crazy 
now,  an'  dhrinks  too  much  of  the  crathur ;  but,  axin'  your 
pardon,  sir,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  she  walks  up  straight  forninst  me 
this  afthernoon,  looMn'  as  wild-like,  an'  she  sez  to  me,  '  Brid- 
get,' sez  she, '  you've  got  a  kind  heart,  and  I  want  you ;  there's 

somebody  sick  at Elm  street.  She's  very  sick,  an'  she's 

got  no  friends.  I  want  you  to  sit  up  with  me,  an'  take  care 
of  her  to-night ;  can  you  ?'  Thim's  jist  the  words  she  said, 
sir,  an'  so  orderly-like  that  I  didn't  say  a  word,  but,  '  Shure, 
ma'am,  an'  I'll  ax  to  come  the  minute  Ettie's  asleep.'  She 
was  going  away,  but  she  turned  back  again,  an'  said,  '  Brid- 
get, it's  somebody  you've  seen  before,  so  you  musn't  be  fright- 
ened. Now  I  think,  can't  you  bring  a  doctor  with  you  ?  come 
early,  and  bring  a  doctor  if  you  know  of  any.'  Jist  whiniver 
she  said  that  same,  she  turned  round,  pulled  down  her  vail, 
an'  walked  off  like  a  queen.  She's  very  quare,  intirely,"  con- 
tinued Bridget,  in  an  apologetic  tone,  "but  if  yer  honor 
would"— 

"  Ob,  I'll  go  with  you  Biddy,"  said  Edward,  glad  of  the 
opportunity  to  see  again,  and  if  possible,  reclaim  the  strange 
wild  being,  in  whose  child  he  was  now  so  deeply  interested.  "  I 
shall  be  glad  if  I  can  be  of  any  service.  When  do  you  want 
to  go  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  279 

"  About  eight  o'clock,  sir,  if  you  plaze.  I  should  like  to 
go  airly." 

"  Very  well,  stop  for  me  then,and  I'll  be  ready  ;  goodnight, 
Ettie,"  said  Edward,  kissing  his  hand  to  the  smiling  little  girl, 
as  he  disappeared  inside  the  door. 


280  KATE   WESTON. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

A  BRIGHT  fire  glowed  in  the  grate,  but  there  was  no  cheer 
in  it.  The  gaslight  was  streaming  away  over  velvet  chairs, 
silken  curtains,  Turkey  carpets,  statues  and  pictures,  that 
seemed  every  moment  starting  into  life ;  but  the  gaslight 
could  not  reach  down  into  the  ruined  soul  of  that  gray-haired 
man;  the  faint  light  of  conscience,  years  ago  almost 
quenched  within  him,  was  bringing  out  to  his  mental  sight, 
mountains  of  unrepented  guilt,  looming  up  in  gloomy  relief 
all  through  the  sinning  and  suffering  past. 

It  was  three  years  since  he  had  disowned  his  daughter. 
He  had  wandered  from  place  to  place,  striving  to  forget  that 
she  was,  may  be,  suffering  for  his  love,  or  even  for  his  aid. 
Three  several  times  he  had  received  a  note,  on  whose  envelope 
he  could  trace  too  well  the  delicate  hand  that  .penned  his 
name,  and  each  time  he  had  committed  the  harmless  little 
missile  to  the  flames.  Poor  man !  did  he  hope,  that,  at  last, 
Pride,  so  long  invoked,  would  wash  out  all  memory  of  his 
sins,  and  fill  up  full  the  void  unanswered  Love  had  made  ? 

Hark,  a  foot  passed  quickly  up  the  steps,  a  sudden  ring 
at  the  door ;  he  listened  attentively,  half-glad  at  any  inter- 
ruption. When  the  front  door  was  opened  he  heard  a  female 
voice,  and  in  an  instant  after  a  peremptory  step  passed  along 
the  hall ;  the  door  opened,  closed,  and  a  vailed  figure  stood 
against  it.  She  threw  back  her  vail.  What,  in  that 
wretched,  haggard  face,  sent  the  blood  curdling  to  his  heart  ? . 
He  neither  rose  nor  spoke.  Those  wild  fierce  eyes  wandered 
over  the  room,  and  then  fell  again  upon  his  face,  as  though 
they  would  scorch  his  soul.  At  length  she  spoke. 


KATE    WESTON.  281 

"A  palace  for  the  father — what  for  the  child?  I  shall 
have  my  revenge.  George  Dunn,  I  came  to  call  you  to  your 
daughter ;  no,  not  I,  but  Death.  I  see  in  your  paling  cheek 
that  you  know  me,  but  /  am  nothing  now,  for  DEATH  calls 
you ;  your  daughter  is  dying  in  a  wretched  garret,  and 
dying  by  your  hand ;  if  you  would  see  her  alive,  come  with 
me." 

Then  all  was  over ;  but  he  paused.  "  You  are  deceiving 
me,"  he  said.  "I  know  not  how  you  came  here,  but  you 
have  some  purpose  of  your  own  to  accomplish.  You  know 
nothing  of — of — my  child." 

She  spoke  not  as  a  woman  speaks,  but  with  a  stern  com- 
mand in  look  and  tone.  "  Your  daughter  is  dying  of  starva- 
tion and  exposure ;  come  with  me,  or  you  will  never  see  her 
more." 

Mr.  Dunn  rose  without  a  word,  and  passed  out  with  her. 
She  walked  rapidly  and  silently,  but  with  a  firm  tread,  while 
his  steps  tottered,  and  his  heart  grew  chill.  At  length  she 
stopped  at  a  miserable  dwelling  in  Elm  street,  entered  the 
hall,  passed  up  two  pair  of  rickety  stairs  to  a  garret  room, 
with  bare  floor,  and  blackened  roof.  His  conductor  did  not 
hesitate,  but  walked  straight  in,  and  up  to  a  miserable  pallet 
where  a  female  figure  lay.  She  stooped,  touching  the  white 
forehead  with  her  lips,  and  turned  relentlessly  to  her  fol- 
lower, "You  are  too  late;"  then,  addressing  Edward  and 
Bridget,  who  sat  at  the  bed-side,  she  added,  "  I  did  not  think 
she  could  fail  so  soon." 

"  No,"  said  Edward,  glancing  uneasily  at  the  ashen  face  of 
Mr.  Dunn,  "  I  did  not  think  so  either,  but  a  violent  spasm, 
just  after  you  left,  seemed  to  take  all  her  remaining 
strength." 

No  one  spoke  again  for  some  minutes ;  the  father,  suddenly 
removed  from  his  luxurious  couch  in  the  magnificent  man- 
sion, stood  in  the  dark,  cold  garret,  gazing  speechlessly  upon 


282  KATE    WESTON. 

a  sunken  face  and  rigid  figure,  to  which  he  would  have  called 
one  hour's  life  at  the  price  of  all  his  wealth. 
'  "George  Dunn,"  at  length  said  the  woman,  with  forced 
composure,  "when  you  lured  me  to  my  destruction,  and 
deceived  me  with  a  mock  marriage,  when  you  witnessed  my 
despair  at  its  discovery,  when  I  passed  from  your  roof  to  irre- 
trievable ruin,  do  you  remember  the  last  words  with  which  I 
addressed  you — '  God  and  your  own  heart  will  be  my 
avengers  P 

"  You  did  not  think  then,  nor  when  you  thrust  away  from 
you  for  ever  the  child  whose  first  error  lay  in  learning  the 
lesson  taught  by  you,  that  after  that  child  should  be  an  out- 
cast from  every  home  and  heart,  mine  should  be  the  hand  to 
take  her  to  my  home ;"  here  she  glanced  around  the  wretched 
room,  "  mine  the  heart  to  sympathize  and  weep,  mine  the 
voice  to  soothe  with  gentle  words  the  spirit  broken  with 
anguish  and  neglect.  Years  ago  I  loved  your  child ;  not- 
withstanding the  hard  crust  of  pride  and  folly  you  had  laid 
upon  her  heart,  I  knew  there  was  a  fount  of  love  beneath.  I 
never  ceased  loving  her.  Three  days  ago,  when  I  found  her 
lying  senseless  in  the  street  at  midnight,  with  the  fierce  storm 
sweeping  over  her  uncovered  form  " 

"  Have  mercy — mercy !"  groaned  the  father,  sinking  upon  a 
chair. 

"  Mercy !  mercy !  Did  you  have  mercy  when  I  knelt  at 
your  feet,  and  prayed  you,  not  that  I  loved  you,  but  for  the 
sake  of  my  own  innocent  child  and  my  dying  mother,  to  give 
me  the  name  of  wife  ?  Did  you  have  mercy  when  you  laid 
for  Lester  Morris  the  snare  that  dragged  him  to  the  grave? 
Did  you  have  mercy  when  you  received,  time  after  time,  from 
your  own,  your  only  child,  prayers  for  your  love  and  pardon. 
She  had  sinned  slightly;  you,  how  deeply,  God  and  your 
heart  alone  can  tell.  She  married  a  gambler  and  drunkard ; 
from  step  to  step  she  has  been  sinking  lower,  lower,  until  at 


t 

KATE   WESTON.  283 

length,  her  second  still-born  babe  laid  her,  one  week  ago,  upon 
a  bed  from  which  she  never  rose,  save  to  be  dragged  by  her 
drunken  husband  from  beneath  the  wretched  roof  that  covered 
her,  out  into  the  raging  storm,  and  left  to  perish  in  the  open 
street.  It  was  there  I  found  her,  lying  as  motionless  as  she  is 
lying  now ;  I  took  her  to  my  home,"  and  the  speaker  glanced 
again  at  the  desolate  abode.  "All  night  long  I  labored  to 
bring  her  back  to  life  and  consciousness ;  she  revived  at  length, 
but  I  knew  that  she  was  dying,  and  I  would  not  go  for  you, 
that  you  might  be  comforted  in  this  bitter  hour  that  I  knew 
must  come,  with  thoughts  of  tardy  justice  rendered,  and  par- 
don whispered  by  lips  that  were  chilling  fast  in  death." 

"  You  can  remember  when  I,  too,  wept  the  dead ;  when 
the  cold  sod  lay  fresh  upon  my  murdered  husband  and  my 
darling  boy ;  when  the  cruel  world  of  my  happier  days  shut 
me  out  from  their  sympathy."  Here  there  was  a  sud- 
den break  in  the  speaker's  voice,  as  though  she  would  have 
stopped,  but  she  pressed  both  hands  upon  her  heart,  and  con- 
tinued, "  I  knew  not  then  that  you  had  instigated  the  murder 
of  my  husband  for  your  own  base  ends  " 

"  Mary,  you  wrong  me  there,"  gasped  her  wretched  listener, 
"  I  shrank  in  horror  from  the  " 

"  Then  why,"  interrupted  his  accuser,  with  a  convulsive 
sneer,  "  after  you  had  so  long  plotted  to  drag  down  the  husband, 
that  the  loving  wife  might  be  left  with  no  fitting  protector 
from  your  villainy,  did  you  not  shrink  in  horror  from  heaping 
shame  upon  the  defenceless  widow  and  her  innocent  child  ? 
Why  did  you  welcome  me  to  your  roof,  lure  me  on  with  the 
cheering  wine  to  forget  husband,  mother,  brother,  until  I 
consented  to  become  your  wedded  wife.  Then  did  you  dare 
deceive  me  with  a  hollow  form,  and  so  ruin  me,  thinking  that 
your  reward  would  never  come.  You  have  it  now  in  this 
world ;  you  shall  have  more  beyond.  Said  I  not  truly  that 
God  and  your  own  heart  would  be  my  avengers  ?" 

The  woman  stopped  speaking,  for  the  face  of  her  powerless 


284  KATE   WE6TON. 

listener  grew  fearfully  pale.  Edward  sprang  forward,  but 
before  he  readied  his  side  the  man  of  the  world  had  fallen 
forward  in  a  swoon  upon  the  floor. 

A  few  weeks  afterwards  all  Mr.  Dunn's  splendid  carpets  and 
curtains,  statues  and  pictures  were  sold  at  public  auction  by 
his  nearest  relatives,  some  second  or  third  cousins  whom  he 
had  scarcely  ever  seen.  Now,  when  years  have  passed  away, 
there  still  wanders  a  fine-looking,  gray-haired  man  up  and 

down  the  long  corridors  of  B- 's  Lunatic  Asylum,  talking 

always  in  an  uridertone  of  Mary  and  his  child.  The  keepers 
say  that  he  is  harmless,  except  during  violent  storms.  Then 
he  tries  by  persuasion,  entreaty,  force,  to  obtain  egress  from 
his  prison,  crying  aloud  on  Mary  to  show  him  where  his 
daughter  lies. 

God  and  their  own  hearts  have  been,  and  still  must  be,  the 
avengers  of  men  like  him. 


KATE    WESTON.  285 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LETTER  FROM  ALICE  TO  KATE. 

"  BLESS  you  Katie  darling  !  I  can  imagine  you  sitting  so 
demure  in  that  old-fashioned  chimney-corner,  working  away 
at  those  everlasting  little  linsey-woolsey  frocks,  while  your 
mother  every  now  and  then  looks  complacently  over  her  spec- 
tacles at  the  fairy  opposite.  Verily,  Kate,  if  ever  there  was 
an  angel,  you  are  one.  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  poor  family 
within  five  miles  of  you  that  you  don't  know  by  heart.  I 
should  die  in  a  week  running  round  to  all  those  horrible 
places ;  I  never  recovered  the  fright  of  our  interview  with 
Kelly's  wife,  and  his  bursting  in  so  furiously  just  as  we  were 
going.  If  there's  anything  on  earth  I'm  afraid  of,  it's  an  intoxi- 
cated man.  I'm  sure  I'd  rather  meet  a  wild  beast  any  time. 
But  you !  Well,  you  have  more  self  sacrifice  than  I.  Do  you 
remember  Louise  Kepler ;  you  are  just  like  her,  mea  caris- 
sima.  I  told  Edward  yesterday  it  really  did  seem  such  a  pity 
that  he  should  have  stepped  in  to  spoil  one  of  the  greatest 
philanthropists  living.  Apropos  of  philanthropists,  Sophronia 
and  her  husband,  who  have  set  up  for  philanthropists  you 
know,  have  issued  a  small  pamphlet  on  Woman's  Rights,  that 
is  making  quite  a  stir ;  some  of  our  city  papers  have  taken  up 
the  arguments  and  put  a  very  plausible  face  upon  them.  I 
confess  that  I  should  be  far  more  easily  influenced  if  I  knew 
less  of  the  authors.  I  bother  them  sometimes  by  making  all 
sorts  of  fun  of  their  Woman's  Rights  Association,  and  express- 
ing my  surprise  at  the  masculine  grace  of  the  present  Presi- 


286  KATE    WESTON. 

»lent.  Cousin  Sophy,  who  has  become  her  devoted  satellite, 
treats  my  astonishment  and  ridicule  with  queenly  scorn. 
'  Alice,'  she  said  this  morning  with  an  ominous  shake  of  all 
the  bugles  in  her  head-dress,  '  Alice,  you  will  really  excite  my 
anger  if  you  persist  in  traducing  that  lofty-spirited  woman. 
Do  you  suppose  that  any  private  consideration  would  inter- 
fere with  her  public  duties  ?  She  sees  too  many  instances  of 
the  gross  injustice  displayed  towards  unprotected  women,  to 
allow  inclination  precedence  to  duty.' 

"  I  did  not  want  to  hurt  her  feelings,  but  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  she'd  been  taking  lessons  of  that  charming  Miss 
Secretary  Tolput,  and  longing  to  tell  her  .so,  she  looked  so 
comical.  Unprotected  women,  forsooth !  I  should  like  to 
hear  her  opinion  of  injustice  to  unprotected  babies  ;  for  I'm 
sure  if  it  wasn't  for  Bridget  that  lady  president's  little  Ettie 
would  have  been  dead  long  ago. 

"Well  Katie,  are  you  ready  to  come  to  my  wedding  1  Don't 
be  jealous  now,  that  we  are  ahead  of  you.  Arthur's  salary 
has  been  raised  to  $2,000  a  year,  and  before  long  he  intends 
entering  business  for  himself.  We  are  to  commence  house- 
keeping immediately,  though  I  declare  I  can't  imagine  what's 
to  come  of  mother  when  I'm  gone  ;  she's  had  such  a  hoyden 
to  manage  for  so  many  years  that  I'm  morally  certain  she 
won't  know  how  to  employ  her  time  when  I'm  gone.  I  often 
wonder  what  ever  possessed  such  a  dignified,  sedate  young 
man  to  fall  in  love  with  me.  I  don't  knowy»upon  the  whole, 
that  it  is  any  stranger  than  my  falling  in  love  with  him.  I 
never  could  bear  serious  people  ;  mother  thinks  it's  all  provi- 
dential, and  tells  me  if  I  were  to  marry  such  another  rattle- 
brain as  myself,  we  should  chatter  one  another  to  death  in  six 
months,  a  sad  sequel  to  my  history.  Oh  dear,  it  makes  me 
sigh  ! 

"  I  got  a  secret  out  of  Aunt  Sophy  the  other  day,  on  condi. 
tion  that  I  wouldn't  tell  it  to  any  gentleman.  She  told  me 
that  she  loved  Mr.  Pufton  dearly  the  first  time  he  ever  offered 


RATE    WESTON.  287 

himself  to  her,  when  she  was  only  seventeen.  And  she  said, 
(now  you  mustn't  tell  Edward)  that  she  would  not  marry  a 
rumseller.  '  Why,  auntie,'  said  I,  '  wouldn't  he  give  up  his 
business  for  your  sake  ?' 

" '  I  never  asked  him,'  she  answered. 

" '  Well  now,  Aunt  Sophy,'  cried  I,  '  if  that  wasn't  strange ; 
if  I  loved  any  one  I'm  sure  I  would  influence  them  to  do  right, 
even  although  they  cared  nothing  for  me,  but  when' — 

" '  Well  Alice,'  interrupted  Aunt  Sophy  with  a  smile,  '•  you 
know  I  am  a  little  peculiar.  The  fact  is,  I  would  not  give 
'two  straws  for  a  man's  change  under  such  circumstances ; 
principle  alone  is  principle,  and  I  could  never  marry  a  man 
whose  principles  were  not  opposed  to  spreading  death  and 
ruin  all  over  the  world.' 

" '  Well,  auntie,'  said  I, '  you  are  the  closest-mouthed  woman 
I  ever  knew ;  if  I  thought  just  so,  I'd  tell  Mr.  Pufton  up  and 
down,  and  fight  a  regular  pitched  battle  every  time  I  met 
him.' 

" '  I  am  not  certain  that  I  do  right,'  said  Aunt  Sophy  doubt- 
fully, '  but  I  cannot  be  so  open-hearted ;  it's  not  my  nature ; 
besides,  it  would  be  a  very  delicate  subject  for  me  to  discuss 
with  him,  I  don't  think  I  could  make  the  attempt.' 

"  Aunt  Maylie  is  such  a  strange  woman.  Nobody  can  help 
loving  her  with  that  quiet  dignified  smile  playing  about  her 
mouth ;  and  yet  sometimes  you're  almost  afraid  of  her,  when 
she  looks  at  you  so.  She  has  looked  my  folly  out  of  counte- 
nance oftener  than  I  can  begin  to  remember,  but  I  know  she 
loves  me  just  as  well,  after  all. 

"But  about  this  wedding:  you  are  to  be  bridesmaid  of 
course.  It  is  to  come  off  at  New  Year's,  and  I  intend  to  cut 
such  a  dash ;  the  idea  of  settling  down  into  a  long-faced, 
every-day  old  lady  doesn't  suit  me  at  all.  I'm  going  to  be  just 
as  lively  as  ever,  spite  of  mother,  auntie  and  all.  You  know 
me,  Kate,  or  you'd  surely  think  me  twice  as  bad  as  I  am,  but 
I  have  no  doubt  that  you  think,  with  all  the  rest,  that  I  shall 


288  KATE   WESTON. 

get  effectually  sobered,  by  and  by.  Don't  you  believe  it ! 
if  I  don't  bring  down  somebody's  dignity  now  and  then,  far 
enough  to  frolic  and  laugh  with  me,  I'm  confident  I  shouldn't 
be  fulfilling  half  my  mission. 

"  But  Kate,  here  I've  run  on  just  in  my  random  way,  when 
the  thoughts  of  my  poor  brother  should  have  made  me  sober. 
Dear  Clarence  has  been  very  ill  again,  as  Edward  will  tell 
you ;  he  seems  to-day  again  as  well  as  usual,  but  he  is  a  great 
sufferer.  Write  to  me  soon,  and  let  me  know  how  soon  you 
will  be  here,  and  whether  your  own  wedding  is  to  bo  deferred 
later  than  next  spring.  Mother  and  all  join  in  love  to  your 
father,  mother,  and  yourself.  Good-bye  then,  dear  Kate.  Be 
sure  to  write  soon  to  your  own 

"ALICE. 

"  P.  S. — Tell  Rosy  that  she  is  not  to  forget  to  come  down  to 
make  my  wedding-cake." 


KATE   WESTOX.  289 


CHAPTER 

"  WELL,  Mary,  are  you  ready  for  a  walk  ?"  said  Kate,  enter- 
ing the  long  sitting-room  of  Mr.  Clarence ;  "  pouting,  as  I 
live  ;  pray  what  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  your  dream  ?" 

"  Oh !"  answered  Mary,  with  a  peevish  sob,  "  father  does 
get  such  ridiculous  notions  in  his  head ;  here  I've  had  an  invi- 
tation to  one  of  the  finest  parties — and  I  mustn't  go,  forsooth, 
because  they  drink  wine,  or  play  cards,  or  waltz  there,  one  or 
the  other,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  which,  and  I  don't  believe 
father  does  either." 

"You  wouldn't  enjoy  yourself  much  there,  Mary,"  answered 
Kate,  "  laying  her  soft  hand  upon  the  frowning  forehead ;  "  I 
received  an  invitation,  but  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  go." 

"  Well,  it's  different  with  you,"  pouted  Mary ;  "  you  never 
care  for  anything  but  going  to  church,  and  being  good,  I 
believe.  I  like  a  little  fun  once  in  a  while,  but  I  must  be 
kept  mewed  up  here  just  like  a  prisoned  bird,  and  it's  been 
twice  as  bad  since  Ned  went  away ;  he  used  to  smuggle  me 
off  sometimes." 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  so  wicked,"  said  Kate,  laughing, 
"  but  really,  Mary,  I  don't  think  you  need  take  this  so  much 
at  heart;  you  and  I  can  practice  the  new  music  Edward 
brought  us,  and" — 

"  Oh,  fiddlestick  on  the  new  music !"  ejaculated  Mary ; 
"  what  under  the  sun's  the  use  of  practicing  music,  if  we  can't 
go  anywhere  to  .play  it ;  just  after  I  had  my  new  buff  crape 
made  up,  too ;  I  declare  it's  too  bad !"  and  the  aggrieved 
young  lady  burst  into  a  fresh  shower  of  tears. 

13 


290  KATE    WE8TOX. 

"  Come  now,  Mary,"  said  Kate,,  coaxingly,  "  nothing  will 
make  you  forget  your  troubles  so  soon  as  a  ramble  through 
the  fields  in  this  bracing  air ;  you  promised  me  you'd  go  if  I 
came  up  after  you." 

"  I  don't  care  a  straw  about  going,"  said  Mary  with  a  pettish 
little  toss  of  the  head.  "  Laconia's  a  dull  place  enough  with- 
out going .  out  every  day,  as  you  do,  to  be  reminded  of  it 
We  might  walk  from  here  to  the  other  .end  of  the  village,  and" 
not  meet  half-a-dozen  people." 

"  But  I  want  you  along  to  keep  me  company,"  persisted 
Kate ;  "  if  it  is  so  dull  I'm  sure  you  won't  condemn  me  to 
walk  alone  ;  then  you  mustn't  break  your  promise,  either." 

"If .you  really  want  me  to  go  with  you,  I'm  sure  I  shan't 
break  my  promise,"  said  Mary,  rising  to  leave  the  room,  "  but 
I'm  sure  I'd  rather  not  go,"  she  added,  rather  ungraciously. 

Kate  knew  well  enough  that  her  walk  might  do  her  good 
in  more  ways  than  one,  and  suffered  her  to  prepare  herself, 
notwithstanding  her  apparent  unwillingness. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  lugging  that  great  basket 
for  ?"  asked  Mary,  as  they  sallied  from  the  door. 

"  I'm  only  going  to  run  up  to  Kitty  Toole's  with  some  little 
cloaks  I've  been  making  for  the  children ;  poor  thing,  she 
doesn't  have  a  chance  to  do  anything  for  them  now." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  cried  Mary,  who  was  still  wincing  from 
the  effect  of  her  ill  temper,  "  I'm  exactly  of  Ned's  opinion.  I 
think  if  people  become  drunkards,  they've  got  no  one  to 
blame  but  themselves ;  and  as  for  that  good-for-nothing 
Teddy,  I  should  like  to  see  him  just  put  somewhere  that  he 
wouldn't  be  impoverishing  his  own  family,  and  making  work 
for  other  people." 

Kate  sighed.  "  Mary,  I  think  if  you  had  seen  as  much  of 
them  lately  as  I  have,  you  wouldn't  think  so  hardly  of  poor 
Teddy,  after  all.  He  isn't  very  powerful  to  resist  temptation, 
I  admit,  but  "— 

"I  haven't  a  particle  of  patience  with  him,"  interrupted 


KATE    WESTON.  291 

Mary ;  "  he's  done  nothing  but  drink  for  over  two  years ; 
father  kept  him  just  as  long  as  he  could,  but  he  had  to  let 
him  go  at  last,  and  I  really  believe  his  family  would  have 
starved  this  last  winter  -if  it  hadn't  been  for  father." 

"  Well,  well,  Mary,  you  shall  see,"  said  Kate,  "  what  you 
think  after  you  go  there  to-day ;  you  haven't  seen  them  in 
some  months,  have  ycu  ?" 

"  Not  since  spring,"  said  Mary.  "  It's  such  a  long  walk  up 
there ;  I  generally  send  something  by  Eben  Jones  once  or 
twice  a  week ;  I'm  sure  I  can't  conceive  what  possesses  you 
to  toil  away  up  there  so  often  through  the  burning  sun  ;  I'm 
positive  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

"  I  think,"  answered  her  companion,  "  that  my  sympathy 
does  Kitty  more  good  than  what  I  give  her." 

"  Oh,  do  you  suppose  such  people  care  much  about  sym- 
pathy ?"  asked  Maiy,  with  just  the  slightest  curl  of  the 
lip. 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Kate.  "  Do  you  suppose  they  do  not 
feel?" 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  "not  exactly  that,  but  I  imagine 
pretty  much  all  their  professions  are  for  the  sake  of  what 
effect  they  may  have  upon  those  who  are  foolish  enough  to  be 
taken  in  by  them." 

"  Oh,  Mary,  how  can  you  say  so  ?"  asked  Kate.  "  Where 
have  you  learned  such  opinions?  I'm  sure  your  father  doesn't 
think  so,  nor  Edward  either." 

"  That's  because  father's  got  such  a  tremendous  organ  of 
credulity,  that  he'd  let  anybody  run  all  over  him,  if  they  told 
a  good  big  story,  and  Ned's  just  such  another  soft-head." 

"Did  you  think  so  the  other  night  at  the  town  hall?" 
asked  Kate  with  a  sly  smile. 

For  the  first  time  since  they  started,  Mary's  face  mellowed 
into  a  smile.  "  Oh,  Ned  can  let  his  tongue  run  as  glib  as  glass 
when  he  gets  interested,  but  of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  he 
has  a  soft  spot  somewhere  about  his  heart,  eh,  Katie  2" 


292  KATE    WESTON. 

If  there  was  any  one  thing  for  which  Mary  had  a  parti- 
cular fancy,  it  was  teasing  somebody  when  she  was  certain  of 
being  successful ;  the  flush  that  mounted  to  the  face  of  her 
young  companion  was  vastly  encouraging,  so  she  continued- 
"  I'm  out  of  patience  with  that  silly  boy,  for  actually  since  he 
went  down  to  the  village  we  see  scarcely  anything  of  him.  I 
suppose  he  has  so  much  business  on  hand — ahem." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Kate,  rallying,  "  I  suppose  his  business  is 
more  pressing,  now  he  has  taken  an  office  in  the  village ;  it 
was  very  inconvenient  for  people  to  come  away  up  to  your 
house  after  him." 

"  And  yet  I  fancy  he  finds  time  to  run  up  to  see  a  certain 
demure  little  blue-eyed  maiden ;  at  least,  so  says  report,'' 
laughed  Mary,  untying  her  hat,  and  swinging  it  on  her  arm. 

"  Nonsense,  Mary !"  said  Kate,  quickly,  "  you  have  wandered 
from  our  subject,  we  were  talking  about  the  power  of  resist- 
ing temptation." 

"  To  be  sure  we  were,"  said  Mary ;  "  but  what's  the  use  of 
arguing  with  you  ?  you  always  come  out  right  in  the  end,  so 
that  I  might  as  well  give  up  first  as  last.  What  a  pleasant 
shady  lane  this  is ;  I  can't  bear  a  hat  on  here." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Kate,  also  removing  her  hat,  "  and  the 
view  from  the  hill  at  the  end  is  the  finest  in  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

"  If  I  were  going  to  be  married  now,"  said  Mary,  "  I  should 
like  of  all  things  to  have  a  little  cottage  right  in  among  these 
trees  ;  it's  so  romantic ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Delightful,"  answered  her  companion.  "  I've  often  won- 
dered why  there  were  not  more  houses  built  here.  That  old 
gable-roofed  concern  is  the  only  one  about." 

"And  that  detestable  Gamp  lives  there,"  said  Mary. 
"There's  something  in  that  man's  eye  that  makes  me  shud- 
der ;  didn't  you  ever  notice  it,  Kate  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  never  admired  his  looks,  certainly ;  I  should  be  half- 
afraid  to  speak  to  him,  I  think.  Strange,  it  seems  to  me,  that 


KATE    WESTON.  293 

the  gentlemen  of  our  village  should  have  patronized  such  a 
man  at  all." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Kate ;  men  don't  see  anything ;  I  believe 
women  have  a  little  something  extra  here,"  and  Mary  touched 
her  forehead  "  that  makes  them  see  ;  why  I  can  see  straight 
through  and  through  some  people  that  father  and  Ned  know 
nothing  at  all  about." 

Kate  smiled  as  she  answered ;  "  Well,  if  I  haven't  thought 
that  same  thing  now,  a  hundred  times ;  I  don't  quite  agree 
with  you  that  men  don't  see  anything;  but  there  are  some 
few  matters  of  vast  importance  to  the  whole  world  that  I'm 
sure  would  have  been  set  right  long  ago,  if  women  had  been 
permitted  to  handle  them.  Take,  for  instance,  the  manufac- 
ture of  ardent  spirits ;  how  long  would  it  have  been  stopped — 
pushed  down  and  kept  down.  I  wish  we  had  it  in  hand  for 
a  while." 

"Bless  me,  Kate,  you  go  to  the  very  root  of  the  matter. 
My  philanthropy  never  shot  beyond  moral  suasion,  and  the 
poor  inebriates  themselves  ;  and  not  very  often  beyond  their 
wives  and  children ;  why,  that  couldn't  be  done !" 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  it  will  be  done  some  day,  Mary.  Why 
not?  It's  worse  to  sell  rum  than  to  gamble, — does  more 
harm." 

"  Oh,  Kate,  you  don't  mean  so  ;  look  at  Mr.  Pufton  ;  our 
darling  little  Pufton ;  nobody  could  call  him  bad." 

"He  labors  under  a  great  error,  Mary.  If  you  don't 
think  selling  rum  is  productive  of  more  harm  than  gambling, 
just  notice  everything  you  see  during  our  walk  to-day,  and  see 
if  you  think  so  still." 

"  Here  we  are  coming  right  upon  the  lion's  den,"  cried 
Mary,  laughing,  as  they  approached  a  dismal-looking  old 
house ;  "  it'll  be  hardly  safe  to  talk  upon  such  dangerous  sub- 
jects here,  for  I'm  positive  that  man  is  double-eared  as  any 
Jesuit  going." 

"  And  double-tongued,  too,"  said  Kate  with  a  sigh.     "  He 


294  KATE    WESTON. 

draws  a  good  many  into  the  net,  that  would  be  safe  enough 
if  his  greed  of  gain  could  be  satisfied  with  letting  them 
alone." 

It  so  happened,  that  just  as  the  young  ladies  passed  the 
house,  Mr.  Gamp  himself  was  sitting  before  a  table  at  one  of 
the  second  story  windows,  conning  over  some  old  papers 
that  he  had  taken  from  a  dusty  box  beside  him.  Five 
or  six  lay  scattered  over  the  table,  while  he  continued  draw- 
ing more  from  the  box,  intent  upon  perusing  their  contents. 
The  door  was  just  ajar,  and  a  sudden  gust  of  air  blew  it  open. 
He  rose  hastily  to  secure  it,  not  noticing  that  the  same  breeze 
had  swept  an  open  letter  out  at  the  window.  He  reseated 
himself  immediately,  renewing  his  occupation. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  Mary,  as  the  letter  caught  her  eye  ; 
"  a  letter,  Kate ;  let's  see  who's  lost  a  letter." 

"  Father  Benson,"  exclaimed  Kate,  as  she  looked  over 
Mary's  shoulder. 

"  Rev.  Mr.  William  Benson,  Laconia,  New  York."  Mary 
read  slowly,  adding  jestingly,  "  I  suppose  there's  no  harm  in 
reading  it ;  you'd  think  somebody  had  put  it  there  on  purpose, 
lying  so  wide  open." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  read  it,"  said  Kate  instinctively,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  letter. 

"  You're  not  so  old-maidish  now!"  cried  Mary,  half-laughing 
half-blushing.  "  I  shall  read  it  though ;  if  it  were  for  any- 
body but  old  Father  Benson,  I  might  be  a  little  punctilious, 
too ;  but  I  know  he'd  read  every  letter  he  ever  had  to  any- 
body." 

"  Why  the  letter's  dated  at  sea,  twelve  years  ago,"  she 
cried ;  "  how  strange !  Come,  Kate,  let's  sit  down  here  on 
the  grass  and  rest  while  I  read  it." 

"  Let  us  walk  on  slowly,  Mary,  a  little  further ;  there's  a 
fine  resting-place  just  on  the  hill  above,  where  poor  Father 
Benson  used  to  sit  and  watch  the  boats  as  they  came  up  the 
river,  fancying  that  every  one  was  bringing  home  his  boy." 


KATE    WESTOX.  295 

They  sauntered  along,  Mary  glancing  over  the  closely 
written  sheet,  and  Kate  recalling  the  image  of  the  bereaved 
father,  sitting  day  after  day  upon  the  green  hill,  waiting  for 
the  coming  of  one  that  all  others  believed  no  more  among 
the  living. 

"This  must  have  been  one  of  the  last  letters  he  ever 
received  from  him,"  said  Mary,  as  she  finished  its  perusal. 
"  The  -son  writes  that  he  has  been  ill  at  sea,  and  is  weary  of  a 
sailor's  life;  that  he  .has  lost  his  wife  during  the  previous 
month,  but  feels  thankful  that  his  little  boy  is  so  strong  and 
well.  Poor  fellow,  he  seems  sorry  enough  for  his  wild  follies. 
I've  heard  the  poor  old  gentleman  tell,  over  and  over,  every 
particular  connected  with  his  child,  until  I  feel  as  though  I 
had  known  him  myself.  Oh !  how  beautiful !"  she  exclaimed 
enthusiastically,  as  they  suddenly  emerged  from  the  woods, 
and  the  blue  river,  rolling  majestically  along  between  the 
world-famed  Hudson  highlands,  burst  upon  their  view. 

"  Beautiful  indeed !"  said  Kate,  turning  into  an  open 
field ;  "  come  here  a  little  way,  Mary,  and  we'll  rest  a  few 
minutes." 

They  passed  a  short  distance  around  the  grove  they  had 
just  quitted,  ascended  a  slight  eminence,  and  both  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  without  speaking.  Immediately  before  them  lay 
a  long  ravine,  whose  luxuriant  woods  were  clothed  in  all  the 
glories  of  an  American  autumn ;  hills  covered  with  ever- 
greens, and  dotted  only  here  and  there  by  a  crimson  maple 
or  a  yellow  birch,  stretched  away  on  either  side ;  and  there 
far  below  them  the  glorious  Hudson  swept  onward,  bearing 
upon  its  breast  the  children  of  the  waters,  from  the  skiff  swell- 
ing its  white  sails  in  the  fresh  breeze,  to  the  stately  steamer 
walking  the  waters  "  like  a  thing  of  life ;"  far  to  the  north 
the  blue  Catskills  rested  in  their  silent  grandeur  against  the 
horizon,  while  the  gorgeous  clouds  of  more  than  an  Italian 
sky  overarched  them  all,  as  though  exulting  in  their  quiet 
beauty. 


290  KATE    WESTOX. 

"It  seems  strange,"  sighed  Kate,  "that  any  sorrow  can 
enter  such  a  beautiful  world." 

Mary  dropped  in  a  half  reclining  posture  upon  the  sward. 
"  This  is  such  a  spot,"  she  said,  "  as  we  often  dream  of,  but 
seldom  see ;  I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  been  so  long 
without  visiting  it  ?" 

"  Isn't  it  because  you  think  more  of  parties  and  dresses,  and 
less  of  nature  than  you  did  when  you  and  I  were  children, 
Mary  ?"  said  Kate  frankly,  laying  her  hand  on  Mary's 
head. 

The  color  flushed  into  Mary's  cheek ;  the  remark  recalled 
the  thought  of  her  disappointment,  quite  forgotten  in  the 
pleasure  of  her  ramble.  "  I  don't  see  any  reason  for  shutting 
oneself  out  from  all  society ;  young  people  need  excitement. 
I  like  everything  spirited  and  wild.  Wouldn't  it  be  splendid 
now  to  see  a  fierce  thunder-storm  sweep  over  this  land- 
scape ?" 

"  Magnificent !"  said  her  companion ;  "  such  an  one  as 
Byron  describes  among  the  Alps." 

"  I  can  imagine  it  now,"  said  Mary ;  "  the  sky  black  with 
clouds,  those  woods  swept  by  the  rushing  winds,  the  vessels 
yonder  pitching  and  rolling  in  the  waves,  while  the  'live 
thunder '  burst  around  them,  and  the  lightning  played  among 
their  sails,  perhaps  folding  them  in  a  sheet  of  flame." 

"  But  what  would  become  of  the  poor  mariners  ?"  asked 
Kate ;  "  the  storm  would  be  less  welcome  to  them." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mary,  "  such  a  scene  would  be  dearly 
purchased." 

For  some  minutes  Mary  lay  watching  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds  as  they  floated  over  the  hills,  while  Kate,  with  her 
arm  clasped  around  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  gazed  out  fixedly  upon 
the  water;  but  something  in  the  large,, earnest  eyes  told  that, 
rich  as  was  the  treat  before  her,  she  was  not  enjoying  its 
beauty ;  the  thoughtful,  almost  mournful  glance,  caught  Mary's 
attention. 


KATE    WESTON.  29*7 

"  Wliat  are  you  thinking  of,  Kate  ?"  slie  exclaimed ;  "  you 
look  as  though,  you  had  the  cares  of  half  the  village  on  your 
shoulders." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  young  girl  gravely,  "  that  we 
are  all  mariners  tossing  on  the  waves ;  I  wonder  if  one  human 
being  that  lived  to  maturity,  ever  passed  through  life  without 
encountering  any  storms." 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mary,  half  laughing,  half 
pouting.  "  I'm  sure  I  had  to  encounter  a  pretty  stiff  gale  this 
afternoon." 

"  I  rather  think,"  said  Kate,  smiling,  "  that  you  sometimes 
brew  your  own  storms,  if  you  call  that  one." 

"  Well  now,  just  tell  me  what  terrible  tempests  whiz  about 
your  ears,  that  you  should  be  looking  so  doleful  over  it." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  I  was  looking  doleful,  Mary ;  no,  you 
and  I  are  sailing  on  yonder  river  now ;  we  haven't  reached 
the  broad  ocean  yet ;  sometimes  I  think  I  am  very  near  it 
though  ;  clouds,  and  winds,  and  waves  gather  around  me,  that 
seem  scarcely  like  those  of  the  peaceful  river,"  said  Kate,  half- 
talking  to  herself. 

Mary  was  just  about  taking  the  opportunity  to  banter  her 
again,  but  as  she  raised  her  roguish  eyes  to  the  transparent 
face,  there  was  something  so  grave,  so  intense  in  its  expression, 
that  she  dropped  them  again  without  speaking. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Kate  in  the  same  musing  tone,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "fierce  storms  must  gather,  tempests  of 
anguish,  trial,  and  temptation,  blacker  and  more  dangerous 
than  the  wildest  that  sweep  the  great  Atlantic  in  their  fury." 

Mary  looked  up  again  as  though  she  hardly  understood  her 
feelings.  "  Oh  Kate  !"  she  cried,  springing  from  the  ground, 
"  don't  be  conjuring  up  dire  fancies  so  long  beforehand.  I  hate 
to  look  at  the  dark  side  of  everything  so ;  I  don't  believe  in 
them  at  all ;  where  in  the  world  are  we  to  take  refuge  if  we 
are  going  to  be  always  surrounded  by  such  '  storms  of 
anguish  ?' 

13* 


298  KATE    WESTON. 

"  In  Christ  the  Ark ;"  answered  Kate ;  the  expression  of  her 
face  deepened  in  intensity,  as  she  added  earnestly,  "  would  that 
we  were  all  in  it !" 

"  How  serious  you  are  getting  to-day,"  said  Mary,  catching 
up  the  basket,  and  turning  to  resume  her  walk.  "  Come,  we 
shall  be  a  great  while  gone,  unless  we  hurry." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Eben  Jones's  oldest  girl,  if  I  could," 
said  Kate,  "  I  have  a  place  for  her." 

"  A  place  for  her  !  why,  she  isn't  fit  to  live  anywhere." 

"  Well,  she  is  going  to  somebody  that'll  make  her  fit  to  live 
somewhere,  I  hope,"  said  Kate.  "  Poor  thing !  she's  had  such 
an  example  before  her ;  no  wonder  she's  anything  but  good." 

Just  beyond  a  turn  in  the  road  they  came  upon  the  dwell- 
ing of  Mrs.  Jones,  lying  a  short  distance  back,  and  entirely 
unenclosed,  save  by  a  few  rough  cedars,  growing  all  crooked 
and  one-sided,  as  if  trying  not  to  be  out  of  keeping  with  every- 
thing else  about  the  house.  You  might  have  seen  a  great  many 
just  such  old,  wood-colored  houses,  without  shutters  to  the 
windows,  but  you  could  not  have  seen  many  whose  surround- 
ings were  of  such  a  motley  character. 

Two  or  three  barrels  stood  on  each  side  of  the  door ;  an 
old  cart  with  one  wheel  off,  towered,  dirty  and  unpainted, 
almost  directly  in  front ;  a  great  pile  of  potatoes  lay,  just  as 
they  had  been  thrown  there,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  cart ; 
scattered  around  the  door  in  untidy  confusion,  was  crockery 
and  tin-ware  of  every  description,  some  whole,  some  cracked, 
some  broken  into  fragments.  A  furnace  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance supporting  a  huge  iron  pot  that  was  emitting  an  odor 
of  anything  but  an  agreeable  character.  A  poor,  lank  cow  was 
wandering  about  among  the  cedar  trees,  and  a  forlorn-looking 
baby  crept  around  among  the  kettles  and  crockery ;  the  little 
creature,  by  dint  of  dipping  his  fingers  in  the  dirt,  crying  half 
the  time,  and  rubbing  his  hands  from  his  eyes  over  his  face 
the  other  half,  succeeded  in  so  artistically  managing  the  mat- 
ter as  to  make  it  extremely  doubtful  whether  he  might  not 


KATE    WESTON.  299 

belong  to   a  mongrel   race,  half-black,  half-white,  but   not 
decidedly  to  either. 

As  the  young  ladies  came  in  view  of  the  child,  he  was  just  dip- 
ping his  hands  deep  into  a  jug  of  molasses  that  he  had  discov- 
ered. Upon  seeing  them,  he  gave  a  sudden  start  of  terror  at 
being  caught  in  his  larceny,  that  tipped  the  jug  over,  molasses 
and  all,  an  accident  giving  rise  to  the  most  terrific  screams  on 
the  part  of  the  poor  little  doubtful  baby.  Suddenly,  Mrs. 
Jones  flew  out  at  the  door,  apparently  without  seeing  her  visi- 
tors, and  leveled  a  blow  at  the  little  creature's  head  that 
might  have  stunned  a  larger  child.  "  There,  you  little  wretch, 
for  ever  up  to  some  mischief !  Take  that,  an'  that !" 

Kate  sprang  forward.  "  You  will  kill  your  child  !  Mrs. 
Jones !"  she  cried  in  a  half-frightened,  half-reproachful  voice. 

The  enraged  woman  whirled  about  in  front  of  the  child, 
"  What  on  airth  is  that  to  you  ?"  she  cried.  '«  Gracious,  if 
tain't  enough  to  drive  a  woman  crazy,  everything  smashed  to 
smatters  by  that  'ere  young  'un,  an'  then  some  o'  yer  gran' 
folks  a  steppin'  in  to  stop  my  whippin'  on  'em.  Who  dares 
to  say  I  shan't  lick  my  own  young  'un  ?  To  be  sure,  I  wan't 
never  nothin'  but  the  wretchedest,  forlornest  crittur  that  was 
ever  born  into  the  univarse,  nor  I  don't  never  expect  to  be 
nothin'  else  till  I  die,  but  that  hain't  no  reason  why  I  should 
give  up  my  nateral-born  rights  over  my  own  child." 

During  this  speech,  delivered  with  violent  contortions  of 
the  cross  mouth  and  ugly  eyes,  the  doubtful  baby  had  ceased 
crying,  made  quite  a  circuit  on  hands  and  knees  to  avoid  the 
notice  of  his  mother,  and  was  pulling  <•  Kate's  dress.  Both 
Mary  and  Kate  perceived  at  a  glance  tha.  ;he  was  intoxicated. 
The  hard  features  were  flushed  with  that  "irplish  red  that 
follows  over-indulgence,  the  eyes  glowered  with  unusual 
malignity,  and  the  sharp  figure,  as  it  turned  unceremoniously 
toward  the  house,  swayed  to  and  fro  with  an  unsteady  swag- 
ger that  would  have  betrayed  her  without  the  disgusting  hic- 
cough, or  offensive  breath. 


300  KATE    WESTON. 

As  soon  as  she  entered,  the  baby  made  its  appearance 
from  behind  the  girls,  who  had  been  really  alarmed  lest  it 
should  have  received  some  serious  injury.  Kate  stooped  to 
examine  its  head,  and  Mary  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pity. 
The  little  shoulder,  looming  up  from  its  ragged  dress,  was 
defaced  by  a  large  blue  mark,  and  distinctly  traced  upon  the 
small  arm  were  the  marks  of  three  fingers  streaked  upon  the 
tender  flesh.  The  ragged,  dirty,  frowsly-headed  little  fellow 
put  up  both  hands  to  Kate,  who  tenderly  lifted  him  in  her 
arms. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  Kate,"  said  Mary  with  a  retreating  ges- 
ture, "  you  take  naturally  to  petting  rags  and  dirt !  Poor 
little  thing,  I  do  feel  sorry  for  it  though,"  she  added, 
as  she  came  up  again  to  examine  the  bruise  upon  its 
arm. 

"  I  don't  think  of  the  dirt  and  rags,"  answered  Kate,  "  so 
much  as  of  the  little  human  being  that's  in  them.  However, 
I  think  we  shall  have  to  wash  these  arms  before  we  can  see 
the  bruises.  There  is  water,  Mary ;  in  one  of  those  tin  pans, 
will  you  hand  it  me  please,  and  soap — here,  some  of  this  soft 
soap  in  the  barrel  will  do.  There  now,  Ebby,  I'm  going  to 
wash  you,  you  mustn't  cry." 

The  little  fellow  watched  her  proceedings  very  closely,  and 
shied  off  as  the  pan  came  directly  in  front  of  him,  but  made 
no  resistance  to  the  ablution,  performed  with  Kate's  wonted 
gentle  firmness.  It  was  with  him  quite  an  unusual  business, 
so  much  so,  that  when  his  face  and  hands  were  thoroughly 
clean,  he  seemed  to  feel  rather  awkward  about  it,  hiding  the 
rosy  little  cheeks  on  Kate's  shoulder,  and  peeping  cautiously 
at  Mary  through  the  plump  fingers. 

"  Strange  how  such  children  live,  and  grow,  and  fatten," 
said  Mary,  clasping  her  fingers  about  the  fat  arm.  "One 
would  think  all  the  neglect  they  experience  would  kill  them, 
leaving  alone  blows  and  pinches  like  those.  What  can  be  the 
reason  ?" 


KATE   WESTON.  301 

"  Free  air,  and  the  manufacture  of  dirt-pies,"  said  her  com- 
panion laughing. 

"  Then  you  think  these  alone  counteract  all  the  evils,  so  far 
as  physical  health  is  concerned ;  but  these  bruises  seem  to  be 
several  days  old ;  it's  a  wonder  that  last  blow  left  no  mark, 
poor  thing !" 

"  Oh,  it's  an  old  story  to  me,"  answered  Kate,  sighing ;  "  this 
is  nothing ;  sometimes  it  has  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  the 
extent  to  which  her  furious  passion  will  take  her.  The  other 
day  I  saw  her  throw  a  stick  of  wood  at  this  mere  baby,  and 
I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  but  that  mark  on  the  shoulder 
is  the  result." 

The  baby  had  been  watching  the  glances  of  tenderness 
directed  towards  him  by  the  gentle  speaker,  and  at  this 
instant  held  up  its  mouth  to  kiss  her.  "  Bless  the  little  soul !" 
cried  Mary,  "  how  did  it  ever  learn  that  ?" 

Kate  kissed  the  red  lips,  tenderly  murmuring,  "  Poor  little 
Ebby ;  I  wish  I  could  take  you  away  from  here,  Heaven  help 
you  with  such  a  mother,  I  cannot ;"  then  brushing  a  tear 
from  her  eye,  she  added  in  a  louder  tone,  "  Mary,  that  woman 
was  always  violent  towards  her  children,  but  it  is  only  since 
she  commenced  drinking,  that  she  behaves  so  very  ill.  I 
don't  believe  she  ever  left  a  finger  mark  upon  one  of  them 
before  that  saloon  was  opened." 

"  Well,  Eben  takes  a  drop  now  and  then  too,"  said  Mary ; 
"  I've  seen  him  quite  tipsy  when  he  came  to  work." 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  Kate,  seating  herself  on  an  old  bench 
with  the  child  still  in  her  arms,  "he  tries  to  stem  the  torrent  of 
trouble  his  wife  brings  upon  them,  but  it's  an  impossible  thing. 
You  see  he  makes  quite  a  confidant  of  Lame  Joe,  and  Rosy  tells 
me  everything.  The  other  day  I  went  over  to  see  Rosy  just 
at  dusk.  As  I  stood  in  the  entry,  I  heard  Jones's  voice  within. 
'Tain't  no  use  at  all,'  he  said  to  Joe,  'I've  done  everything 
long  ago  that  I  could  do.  She  will  have  her  own  way,  an' 
them  children's  all  goin'  to  rack  an'  ruin  fast  as  ever  they  can 


302  KATE    WESTON. 

gallop.  They  ain't  like  her  neither,  an'  though  I  say  it  that 
shouldn't,  if  it  wan't  for  her,  there  ain't  better  children 
nowheres ;  better-natered,  nor  more  willin'  children.'  Then  I 
heard  Joe  say,  '  Guv  it  up  den,  Eben ;  telled  yer  'twan't  no 
sort  o'  use ;  yer  gettin'  to  look  as  full  o'  wrinkles ;  'pears  yer 
an  old  man  aready ;  you's  got  excuse  enough ;  might  as  well 
drink  as  anyting.  Dis  yer's  de  way,  yer  see ;'  and  I  heard 
Joe  lay  it  all  down  on  his  big  hand ;  '  ef  yer  gits  drunk  ebery 
day  o'  yer  life,  chillen  an'  eberyting  is  all  a-gwine,  an'  ef  yer 
nebber  gits  drunk,  chillen  an'  eberyting  is  all  &-gwine? 

"  Here  Rosy  broke  in,  '  Now  Joe,  arn't  yer  'shamed  to  setice 
de  man ;  won't  de  Lord  bring  tings  up,  I'd  like  to  know ; 
guess  He'd  make  her  toe  de  mark,  anyhow,  ef  He  jest  tuk  it 
in  hand.  Don't  you  nebber  drink,  Eben ;  not  widout  you'd 
jest  kill  the  chillen,  out  an'  out.  JSToting's  so  ruinatious  in  all 
dis  ruinatious  earth.  Ef  I  could  jest  once  be  sartin  dat  my 
Joe  wouldn't  nebber  touch  sperits  again,  I'd  jest  go  down  on 
my  knees,  an'  bress  de  Lord  for  de  rest  of  my  life.' " 

"  Comical  scene,  wasn't  it  ?"  said  Mary  laughing ;  "  there 
must  be  a  sort  of  fascination  in  drinking,  that  makes  men 
slaves  to  the  habit,  but  they  are  to  blame  for  beginning,  that's 
the  thing." 

Kate  sighed,  but  did  not  answer.  Just  then,  Rebecca  Jones 
made  her  appearance  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  with 
bare  feet  and  uncombed  hair.  She  walked  shyly  towards 
them,  and  entrenched  her  dirty  feet  behind  a  large  ash-box 
directly  in  front  of  the  young  ladies. 

"  Rebecca,"  said  Kate,  "  I  came  here  to  see  you ;"  here  a 
smile  of  pleasure  flitted  over  the  girl's  face,  "and  I  have 
two  or  three  questions  to  ask  you ;  have  you  ever  learned  to 
work  any  ?" 

"  Not  much,"  was  the  answer,  "  I  work  often  for  mother, 
but" — and  she  hesitated,  with  some  embarassment. 

"But  you  haven't  worked  in  ladies  houses,"  said  Mary, 
helping  her  to  what  she  would  have  said. 


KATE    WESTON.  303 

"  No  ma'am,  only  two  or  three  times  to  wash  dishes,  or 
something  like  that." 

Mary  could  hardly  help  glancing  from  the  baby  to  the 
eldest  scion  of  this  illustrious  house,  and  wondering  which 
deserved  the  most  pity.  A  more  forlorn,  discontented  look- 
ing being  could  hardly  be  imagined  than  the  child  who  stood 
before  her.  Just  at  the  age  when  the  rushing  life  and  buoy- 
ancy of  youth  casts  a  glow  of  interest  over  the  dullest  coun- 
tenance, with  a  face  naturally  bright  and  expressive,  large 
black  eyes,  luxuriant  hair,  and  brilliant  complexion,  she  united 
all  the  elements  of  beauty  in  her  face  and  figure.  But  the 
wildest  fancy  could  not  make  her  beautiful.  Her  thick  hair 
was  tangled  all  over  in  such  a  mass  that  the  knot  in  which  it 
was  gathered  behind  was  almost  undistinguishable.  Her  face 
was  dirty,  the  even  row  of  teeth  yellow  from  neglect,  and  the 
large  dark  eyes  had  an  expression  of  peevishness  that  totally 
neutralized  their  beauty.  Ill-fitting  and  ragged  garments 
rendered  her  figure  unsightly,  and  her  shy,  awkward  carriage 
proved  that  whatever  might  have  been  her  faults,  vanity  was 
not  one  of  them. 

"  Would  you  like  to  learn  to  work  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  Suppose  so,  ma'am,"  answered  the  child,  "  don't  know." 

"  Don't  know  ?"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  you  don't  deserve  to  be 
taught  anything  if  you  talk  so." 

"  I  know^  that,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  never  was  good  for 
nothing,  nohow." 

"  But  you  would  be  willing  to  try  to  be  good  for  some- 
thing, wouldn't  you  ?"  asked  Kate,  kindly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  if  I  could,"  she  answered. 

"  If  you  could  find  a  good  place  ?"  continued  Kate. 

A  sad  incredulous  smile  lingered  on  the  lips  of  the  girl. 
"  /  couldn't  get  a  good  place,  I  know, — and  I  won't  'go  to  a 
bad  one,  won't,  so  there.  I  might  ha'  gone  to  Gamp's  or 
Dougherty's,  or  Tim  Rafferty's,  if  I  liked,  but  as  long  as  I've 


304  KATE   WESTON. 

got  to  be  bad,  an'  live  with  bad  folks,  I  might  as  well  live 
here." 

"  But  if  you  had  a  good  place,"  said  Mary,  "  you  " — 

The  girl  interrupted  her,  "  A  good  place !"  she  cried,  and 
for  a  moment  her  fine  eyes  flashed.  "  I  know  I  can't  get  a 
good  place.  Haven't  I  been  trying  two  years  now,  an'  much 
good's  come  of  it  Who'd  take  Sally  Jones's  daughter,  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  a  lady,  I'm  sure." 

"  You  shouldn't  speak  so,"  said  Kate,  gently.  "  It  depends 
upon  yourself  to  do  anything  in  the  world,  not  your  mother. 
Remember  your  father  loves  you,  and  is  anxious  " — 

"  And  what  good  is  that  either,"  broke  out  the  child,  while 
a  curl  of  ineffable  scorn  wreathed  her  lips ;  "  mother'd  just 
as  soon  beat  father  as  me,  don't  I  know  that.  Oh,  I  hate  her, 
if  it  wasn't  for  father,  I  know  what  I  could  do  that  would  be 
better  than  living  with  her.  I'd  run  away  to  New  York,  and 
beg  or  work  or  steal,  or  do  anything? 

Kate  took  no  notice  of  this  outburst,  although  her  heart 
trembled  at  the  fierce  temper  of  the  neglected  girl. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  with  my  mother  for 
two  or  three  months?  that  is  what  I  came  to  see  you 
about." 

Rebecca  looked  up  quickly,  and  burst  into  tears.  The 
doubtful  baby,  who  had  descended  from  Kate's  knee,  and  was 
again  examining  into  various  matters  always  interesting  to 
babies,— ashes,  charcoal,  etc.,  scrambled  round  to  his  sister, 
pulling  her  tattered  dress,  and  throwing  up  unnoticed  kisses 
by  way  of  consolation. 

"  What  an  affectionate  little  creature !"  cried  Mary ;  "  do 
see  it  try  to  comfort  her ;  look,  it's  going  to  cry  because  she 
does  not  notice  him."  The  little  one  burst  out  into  a  grieved 
cry,  and  Rebecca,  suddenly  checking  her  sobs,  and  looking 
anxiously  towards  the  house,  lifted  him  in  her  arms. 

"  There,  there,  Ebby,"  she  tried  to  say  soothingly,  "  don't 


KATE   WESTON.  305 

cry,  mother'11  hear  you ;  dear  little  Ebby,  sister  loves  liim, 
—sister." 

The  baby  cast  a  terrified  glance  towards  the  house,  stopped 
crying,  and  put  both  arms  about  his  sister's  neck,  while  the 
girl  who  had  a  moment  before  almost  alarmed  them  by  the 
energy  of  her  passion,  clasped  him  in  her  arms  with  the 
utmost  tenderness. 

"  A  queer  compound,"  thought  Mary.  "  A  wounded  heart," 
thought  Kate,  "  that  gentleness  will  heal."  At  length  she 
spoke.  "  Then  you  do  not  want  to  go  with  me,  Rebecca  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  was  the  eager  answer,  "  but  it  was  too 
much ;  I  never  hoped  so  much ;  I  will  try,  how  I  will  try  to 
be  a  better  girl  to  you,  and  yet," — she  added,  in  a  softened 
tone,  "  how  can  I  leave  poor  Ebby  ?" 

"  You  can't  do  him  any.  good,"  said  Mary. 

"  Have  you  any  clothes  besides  those  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  father  bought  me  a  second-hand  dress  and 
bonnet  t'other  day,  and  I  hid  'em,  so  mother  needn't  sell  'em 
for  rum." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Kate,  "  you  can  come  to  see  me  to-mor- 
row afternoon.  Be  sure  to  wash  yourself  thoroughly,  and 
comb  your  hair,  because  my  mother  will  never  have  any  dirty 
girls  about  her." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Kate,"  answered  the  girl,  while  an 
expression  of  real  sweetness  played  for  an-  instant  over  her 
face,  "  I  will  try  to  be  good  for  something  now." 

"  Good  bye,  Ebby,"  said  Kate,  rising  and  patting  his  head, 
"  I'll  come  again  to  see  you ;  want  a  cake  ?"  she  added,  tak- 
ing a  large  light  bun  from  her  basket,  and  handing  it  to  the 
delighted  child,  who  laughed  and  chuckled,  and  held  up  his 
prize  for  his  sister's  admiration. 

"  Good  bye,  Rebecca ;  then  you'll  be  there  early  to-mor- 
row afternoon." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  good  bye,"  said  Rebecca,  with  an  awkward 
courtesy.  "  I'll  come  before  two  o'clock." 


306  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Kate,  how  long  we  have  been  here  !"  said  Mary,  glancing 
at  her  watch.  "  We  shall  have  to  hurry  now." 

The  girls  walked  rapidly  on  until  they  came  to  the  cottage 
of  Teddy  Toole.  The  house  was  so  still  that  they  half- 
doubted  if  any  one  was  within.  A  change,  indeed,  had 
passed  over  the  cottage  during  the  three  years  of  suffering 
through  which  its  occupants  had  passed.  It  looked  dingy 
for  want  of  paint,  the  windows  were  stuffed  with  rags,  the 
fence  was  broken,  and  the  neat,  tidy  garden  looked  barren 
and  uneven,  as  though  it  had  been  worked  by  an  unskillful 
hand. 

Kate  was  about  to  knock,  when  a  peculiar  sound  from 
within  arrested  her  hand.  The  door  was  ajar,  and  she  could 
hear  a  hissing  sound,  accompanied  by  a  faint  moaning,  as  of 
one  in  distress.  As  they  listened,  they  could  hear  muttered 
curses,  groans,  and  cries  that  told  too  plainly  of  a  drunkard's 
hour  of  extremity.  Mary  shuddered.  "  Don't  go  in,  Kate,  I 
wouldn't  see  him  for  the  world.  Corne,  this  is  no  place 
for  us." 

Her  companion  stood  for  a  moment,  holding  the  latch  of 
the  door,  then  mournfully  turning  to  Mary,  she  said,  "  There 
are  those  within  who  are  less  able  to  bear  it  than  we  are. 
We  will  go  and  see  if  it  is  not  possible  to  do  any  good ;  come, 
Mary."  As  she  spoke  she  took  Mary's  hand,  and  drew  her 
in  after  her. 

As  they  entered  the  comfortless  room,  now  almost  shorn  of 
furniture,  their  eyes  filled  at  the  scene  before  them.  Kitty 
Toole  was  sitting  down  upon  the  bare  floor,  slowly  rocking 
backwards  and  forwards,  with  a  low  regular  moan,  while  the 
big  tears  rolled  down  over  her  face.  The  three  smallest  chil- 
dren were  cowering  in  a  dark  corner,  all  of  them  crying  with 
stifled  sobs,  and  the  youngest  half-beside  herself  with  a  terror 
whose  very  intensity  made  her  silent. 

The  door  of  the  adjoining  room  was  open,  and  Teddy's 
voice,  uttering  bitter  imprecations,  or  raving  in  the  madjiess 


KATE    WESTON.  307 

of  his  despair,  rolled  into  those  hearts  a  river  of  anguish  that 
no  earthly  power  could  stay  or  mitigate.  Kate  felt  the  vain- 
ness of  her  endeavors,  but  she  stepped  softly  up  to  the  heart- 
broken woman,  and  laid  hw  gentle  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 
Kitty,  now  first  aware  of  their  presence,  burst  into  a  fresh  cry 
of  suffering  that  thrilled  to  their  very  hearts. 

"Have  you  no  one  here  to  take  care  of  him  but  yourself?" 
asked  Kate. 

"  Not  a  one,  Miss  Kate,  not  a  one.  He  was  niver  so  bad 
afore  ;  och  Teddy,  machree,  how  can  I  hear  ye  ?  an'  the  child- 
hers  !  I'll  die,  sure,  Miss  Katie !  Och !  my  poor  childhers !" 

"  Where  is  Mike  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  Sure,  an'  that's  all  I've  got  to  thank  the  Lord  for  now. 
Mike's  away  up  here  to  farmer  Scott's ;  he  was  jist  afther 
fetchin'  home  his  wages  a'  Sunday,  whin  his  father  got  so 
drefful.  Faith,  Mikey's  my  last  hope  now."  A  fresh  shriek 
from  the  next  room  made  the  terrified  wife  start  forward 
towards  the  door,  and  the  shrieking  children  cling  together 
with  a  convulsive  grasp. 

Kate  sprang  forward  and  caught  Kitty's  arm.  "  Wait  a  few 
moments,  I  beg  of  you.  It  is  not  right  for  you  to  go  near 
him.  I'll  go  for  some  one.  He  might  injure  you." 

"  Och  !  let  me  go ;  he'll  make  away  with  hisself,  sure  he 
•will ;  hear  him  choke ;  he's  afther  gettin'  worse  ivery  minute 
of  this  awful  day,"  and,  with  a  shudder,  she  again  made  a 
motion  towards  the  door. 

Kate  held  her  gently  but  firmly,  and  turning  to  Mary,  said, 
"  Mary,  I  will  stay  here  while  you  run  back  to  Jones  and  find 
Jake.  He  must  be  about  there  somewhere.  He  will  be 
better  than  no  one,  and  he  can  stay  until  you  and  I  return 
and  send  Edward  to  his  relief." 

"  Will  you  stay  here  alone  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  I  am  not  alone,"  was  the  quiet  answer,  "  Go,  Mary," 

The  tone  was  one  from  which  Mary  knew  there  was  no 
appeal,  so  casting  an  anxious  glance  behind  her  as  she  left 


308  KATE    WESTON. 

the  door,  she  flew  swiftly  back  on  her  errand  of  mercy.  But 
the  clear  glance  of  faith  that  looked  out  from  those  beautifu 
eyes,  and  the  unshrinking  tone  in  which  those  few  parting 
words  were  uttered,  created  in  the  breast  of  the  thoughtless 
girl  a  vague  longing  for  the  same  trust,  and  love,  and  courage, 
that  flowed  out  from  that  warm,  dauntless  heart,  into  the 
world  of  wretchedness  around,  like  well-springs  in  a  desert, 
or  sunbeams  in  a  dungeon.  Even  the  scene  of  suffering 
which  she  had  witnessed,  was  not  sufficient  to  draw  her  mind 
entirely  from  that,  to  her,  remarkable  resolution  that  could 
prompt  one  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  the  most  refined  gen- 
tleness to  stay  at  the  bedside  of  a  man  suffering  from  the 
worst  of  all  forms  of  madness. 

No,  Kate  was  not  alone  !  But  it  was  not  a  thought  of  the 
heart-broken  occupants,  of  the  gloomy  room  that  prompted 
her  answer.  She  knew  that  she  had  need  of  greater  courage 
because  they  were  with  her,  but  she  had  that  glorious  promise 
of  One  who  holds  the  whole  universe  in  his  Almighty  Hand, 
"  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee,"  and  without  fear 
she  applied  herself  to  the  work  God  had  given  her  to  do. 

During  Mary's  absence,  Teddy  seemed  less  violent,  and 
Kate  had  an  opportunity  of  soothing  the  poor  wife  and 
children. 

"  Shure,  Ma'am,"  says  Kitty,  "  but  you'd  niver  find  a  better 
husband  than  Teddy  afore  the  dhrink  crazed  him  in  ti rely  ? 
an'  would  it  be  meself  that'd  lave  him  now,  whin  there's  niver 
a  sowl  near  to  kape  him  from  killin'  hisself  ?  He  didn't  do 
it ;  shure  it  was  Gamp  begun  it,  and  Tim  Rafferty  finished 
him  intirely.  Och,  Teddy,  machree !  Och,  my  childhers ! 
What'll  come  iv  us  all  ?  God  help  us !  Holy  Mother,  have 
mercy  on  us !" 

"  God  will  help  you ;"  said  Kate,  with  emphasis.  "  He  says, 
'Call  upon  me,  and  I  will  hear.'  Oh!  pray  to  Him,  Kitty, 
not  to  the  Virgin  or  the  priest ;  teach  your  children  to  pray  to 
Him ;  you  would  find  your  trials  easier  to  bear." 


KATE    WESTON.  309 

Before  Jake  arrived,  Kate  had  succeeded  in  inspiring  the 
faithful  wife  with  something  like  courage,  and  having  first 
transferred  the  children  to  another  room,  had  partially  drawn 
their  attention  from  their  wretched  father  to  a  store  of  warm 
woolen  gowns  and  stockings  she  had  brought  for  them.  Mary 
was  surprised  on  her  return  to  see  little  Kitty  actually  peep- 
ing out  of  the  window  with  a  subdued  smile  on  her  round 
face.  So  easily  are  childhood's  griefs  forgotten  ! 

Having  left  Jake  in  the  room  of  the  sufferer,  they  hurried 
back  to  summon  Edward  to  his  assistance.  By  the  time  they 
reached  the  office  it  was  almost  dark,  but  the  generous  young 
doctor  flew  away  to  minister  to  his  relief,  while  the  two  girls 
pursued  their  way  homeward,  with  heads  and  hearts  full  of 
the  day's  adventures. 

To  Kate  the  scenes  through  which  she  had  passed,  with  the 
single  exception  of  Teddy's  frightful  disease,  were  perfectly 
familiar.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  suffering  poor, 
and  she  had  acquired  a  strength  of  nerve  that  was  eminently 
useful  in  her  labors  of  love.  But  Mary,  although  always 
interested  in  the  recital  of  suffering,  had  never  yet  seen  and 
heard  so  much  as  she  had  seen  and  heard  to-day.  The  after- 
noon's disappointment  was  entirely  forgotten,  and  she  was 
ready  for  a  whole  day  to  forego  all  parties,  and  leave  her 
"  beautiful  new  crape  "  for  ever  unsoiled,  if  she  might  only  do 
good  as  Katie  did.  But  one's  own  eyes  and  ears  are  the 
only  true  touchstone  to  human  sympathy,  and  there  is  neces- 
sity for  constant  application.  The  heart  that  longs  for  higher 
aims  than  self-interest  or  pleasure,  must  gird  on  the  armor  of 
Christ,  and  throb  warmly  in  his  cause.  Maiy  was  not  yet 
ready  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and  bye-ways  of  suffering, 
seek  out  the  afflicted,  pray  with  them,  labor  for  them,  give  up  to 
them  the  buoyant  energy  of  youth,  and  win  them  to  truth  by 
the  sacrifice  of  personal  ease.  Only  those  who  have  taken 
up  His  cross,  Who  was  "meek  and  lowly  of  heart,"  Who 
"  went  about  doing  good,"  "  healing  the  sick,"  "  cleansing  tho 


310  KATE   WESTOX. 

lepers,"  "  forgiving  the  erring,"  "  raising  the  dead,"  only  these 
can  so  labor,  and  so  achieve,. 

Edward  remained  with  Teddy  during  a  large  portion  of  the 
night.  He  found  him  in  a  precarious  situation,  but  by  the 
blessing  of  God  upon  his  unremitting  labors,  the  poor  fellow 
was  raised  this  time  from  a  bed  of  horror  and  anguish,  to  be 
for  a  few  weeks  a  sober  man,  and  then,  alas !  to  return  again 
to  the  course  of  ruin  from  which  his  naturally  weak  energies 
could  not  restrain  a  man  of  loving  heart,  and  many  lovable 
qualities. 


KATE   WESTON.  311 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EDWARD,  as  we  must  call  him  still,  although  a  man  of  three 
and  twenty,  was  sitting  in  his  office  when  Judge  Eeid  entered, 
and  cordially  extending  his  hand,  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Dr.  Cla- 
rence, you  will  not  disappoint  us  this  evening ;  you  promised 
me  a  full  month  ago  to  recite  that  beautiful  historical  sketch 
of  Mrs.  Hemans  for  us  this  evening." 

"  Aha,  I  had  forgotten  that,"  said  Edward,  with  a  smile. 
"  Can  you  not  excuse  me  to-night  ?  Indeed,  my  professional 
duties  are  such  " — 

"  Professional  duties,  be  ye  scattered  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven !"  cried  the  Judge,  with  a  pompous  wave  of  the  hand. 
"  You  have  promised,  sir,  and  you  must  perform." 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  young  physician,  laughing,  "  from 
such  a  decision  there  is  no  appeal,  as  Lawyer  Flip  would 
say.  I  think,  however,  I  shall  cut  rather  a  ridiculous  figure, 
declaiming  one  of  my  school-boy  pieces  at  a  fashionable 
party." 

"All  friends !"  cried  the  Judge,  "and  all  anxious  to  hear  it. 
I'd  give  $10,000  down,  if  my  boy  had  the  same  taste  that  you 
have.  He  is  so  fond  of  society,  and  so  petted  in  it,  that  he 
has  no  time  for  anything  else." 

Edward  thought  to  himself  that  time  and  taste  were  but  a 
small  part  of  that  young  gentleman's  requisites,  but  he  merely 
remarked,  "All  are  not  alike,  Judge,  '  Chacun  a  son  gout.1  I 
was  always  fond  of  argument  and  oratory.  I  think  if  I  had 
as  many  obstacles  as  Demosthenes  to  overcome,  I  should 


312  KATE   WESTON. 

labor  to  conquer  them,  although,  of  course,  I  can  never  hope 
for  any  such  attainments  as  his." 

"  You  are  too  modest,  young  man,"  said  the  Judge,  throw- 
ing his  head  back  loftily,  as  though  there  were  indeed  no 
appeal  from  his  decision.  "I  am  positive,  that,  had  you 
studied  law,  there  would  have  been  no  stopping-place  to  your 
progress.  As  you,  however,  did  such  a  foolish  thing  as  wed 
yourself  to  pills  and  blisters  for  ever,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
divorce  you  by  sending  you  to  Legislature  one  year  from  next 
fall ;  so  you  may  as  well  prepare  yourself." 

Edward  started.  "  You  forget  my  youth,  sir !"  he  cried. 
"  You  forget  my  profession,  my  inability  " — 

"  I  never  forget,  sir,"  answered  the  gentleman,  with  a  sta- 
tely bow,  as  though  displeased  at  his  young  listener's  daring 
for  a  moment  to  impute  want  of  foresight  to  him,  Judge  Levi 
Livingston  Reid.  "  I  believe,  sir,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  for- 
getting." 

Edward,  with  all  his  own  conflicting  emotions,  could  hardly 
forbear  smiling  at  the  grand  displeasure  of  the  learned  gentle- 
man. His  dignity,  however,  unlike  that  of  his  exquisite  son, 
was  supported  by  considerable  talent,  so  that  it  was  only 
amusing,  without  exciting  disgust.  The  young  man  hardly 
knew  how  to  answer  him,  but  after  a  pause,  he  said,  "  I  can- 
not say  that  the  thought  never  entered  my  mind,  that  I  might 
yet  have  the  honor  of  serving  my  country  in  some  public 
manner ;  but  when,  at  the  earnest  solicitations  of  my  parents, 
I  entered  the  medical  profession,'  I  resigned,  as  I  thought,  for 
ever,  all  aspirations  of  that  nature.  You  cannot  wonder, 
therefore,  that  I  should  be  surprised  at  such  an  expression  on 
the  part  of  a  gentleman  holding  a  position  so  lofty  as  your 
own." 

"Nevertheless,"  answered  the  Judge,  his  ruffled  dignity 
somewhat  soothed  by  this  last  remark,  "  I  have  resolved  to 
send  you  to  Legislature  one  year  from  next  fall,  and  you 
know,"  he  added,  drawing  himself  up,  "  whatever — I — say, — 


KATE    WESTON.  313 

I — will — perform ;"  then  changing  his  tone  a  little,  he  said,  as 
he  opened  the  door,  *'  Then  I  expect  you  this  evening.  Good- 
day." 

A  giant,  buried  long,  sprung  up  in  an  instant  in  that  young 
exulting  heart.  How  he  had  dreamed  in  boyhood  of  an  hour 
like  that ;  how  the  very  words  that  he  had  just  heard  had 
fallen  on  the  ear  of  fancy,  years  ago,  when  the  school-boy, 
wandering  by  the  pebbly  stream,  or  poring  in  some  forest 
nook,  had  fired  at  the  history  of  one  gigantic  intellect  that 
bore  upon  its  mighty  waves  the  ]esser  surges  of  a  nation's 
destiny. 

As  he  sat  there,  gazing  into  the  glowing  coals  that  heaped 
the  grate  before  him,  his-  dark  eye  kindled,  and  his  cheek 
flushed.  Why  did  that  thrill  stir  up  his  heart,  and  sweep 
through  the  young  blood  coursing  in  his  veins,  till  a  glow  of 
rapture  lit  up  the  glorious  face.  O  Edward !  was  the  eagle 
crushing  out  the  dove  within  thy  breast,  or  can  they  live  in 
the  same  nest,  mating  in  perfect  unison  ?  Sweet  Katie  !  Was 
it  thy  image  flitting  in  its  purity  before  his  wandering  fancy, 
with  hands  upraised,  and  eyes  upturned,  that  stole  like  a 
shadow  over  the  dreamer's  hopes?  Love  is  mightier,  but 
Ambition  sings  her  syren  song,  pours  out  her  countless  trea- 
sures, points  to  her  glorious  pinnacles,  until  Love  sinks 
trustingly  to  sleep  upon  her  perjured  bosom.  O  Love,  poor 
Love ! 

Before  the  evening  entertainment,  Edward  stole  an  hour  to 
spend  with  Kate.  Of  course  the  subject  uppermost  in  his 
thoughts  was  communicated  to  her  the  instant  they  were 
alone.  A  flush  of  pleasure  sparkled  on  her  face,  a  glance  of 
mingled  pride  and  affection  flashed  from  her  eyes,  but  almost 
at  the  moment  followed  a  sudden  sense  of  danger  in  the  new 
path  he  was  about  to  tread.  But  she  could  not, — how  could 
she,  cast  a  chill  upon  his  buoyant  hopes.  Neither  was  her 
judgment  infallible,  nor  her  knowledge  of  the  dangers  of  his 

14 


314  KATE    WESTOX. 

future  career  sufficient  seriously  to  alarm  her.  It  was  but  a 
vague  presentiment  of  evil,  and  she  would  not  trouble  him 
at  such  a  moment  with  a  mere  presentiment. 

Young  ladies  stepped  daintily  from  their  carriages  into 
Judge  Reid's  splendidly  illuminated  mansion :  Gay  horses 
pranced  up  and  away  before  the  door,  liveried  footmen 
strutted  about,  far  prouder  than  their  masters.  Stately  men, 
who  had  borne  the  cares  of  public  life ;  matrons  who  had 
reared  the  fair  flowers  of  beauty  that  now  for  the  first  time 
were  blossoming  in  the  hothouse  of  the  fashionable  world ; 
young  men,  firm  of  heart,  and  strong  of  nerve  were  there, 
and  a  few,  a  very  few  faded  and  paled  as  our  city  youth  fade 
and  pale,  through  idleness  and  dissipation. 

At  the  furtlter  end  of  a  window-recess,  Minnie  Reid  and 
Emily  Myers  were  holding  together  a  solemn  consultation. 
The  guests  had  mostly  arrived,  and  a  lively  chat  was  buzzing 
away  through  the  whole  length  of  the  sumptuous  apartments. 
"Now,  Emily,  don't  tell  me  any  such  thing,"  said  Minnie, 
earnestly,  laying  her  slender  fingers  on  the  jewelled  wrist  of  her 
companion.  "  Haven't  they  always  been  just  like  brother  and 
sister  together  ?  and  'tisn't  at  all  likely  they'll  up  and  fall  in 
love  with  each  other  now." 

"But  I  think  they've  been  in  love  a  good  while,"  was 
Emily's  answer,  "  Mary  has  told  me  as  much  a  dozen 
times." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Minnie,  shrugging  her  dimpled  shoulders 
with  an  air  of  vexation.  "  It's  too  bad  of  you  to  discourage 
me  so,  when  I  made  you  my  confidant.  Next  time  I'll  tell 
Anna  Flip,  so  I  will." 

"  Pray  how  soon  will  next  time  be,  Minnie  ?  How  often  do 
you  suppose  girls  ought  to  bestow  their  affections  upon  some 
new  gallant  ?" 

"  You're  real  hateful,  that's  what  you  are,"  said  Miss 
Minnie,  in  no  very  amiable  tone,  "  you  think  because  I'm  just 


KATE    WESTON.  315 

out,  I  don't  know  anything ;  that's  just  like  some  of  the  girls 
at  school.  You  ain't  one  bit  like  you  used  to  be  before  I 
•went  away." 

"  Oh  never  mind,  ma  chere,  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you, 
Minnie ;  Dr.  Clarence  has  not  seen  you  since  you  returned 
from  school ;  use  all  your  efforts  and  you  may  win  him  from 
Kate,  though  if  he  does  love  her,  I  don't  believe  he'll  ever  play 
truant." 

"  To  think  of  that  splendid,  noble,  magnificent  fellow  marry- 
ing that  dough-faced  little  Quaker !  She's  pretty  enough,  to 
be  sure,  but  I  do  hate  a  face  without  expression ; "  and  the 
sparkling  eyes  glanced  complacently  at  a  mirror  opposite. 

She  was  a  fairy  little  creature — faultless  bust,  shoulders  and 
arms  perhaps  a  little  too  much  exposed ;  tiny  hands  and  feet 
and  face  vivacious  and  changeable  as  an  April  sky,  she  had 
already  commenced  her  career  as  queen  of  Laconia  belles.  To- 
night she  was  arrayed  in  a  white  crape,  whose  soft  folds  set  off 
the  dazzling  fairness  of  her  complexion,  and  the  exquisite  pro- 
portions of  her  figure.  A  camelia  was  fastened  at  one  side  of 
her  hair,  and  pearls  were  twisted  carelessly  among  the  glossy 
curls.  No  dress  could  have  been  more  admirably  adapted  to 
the  wearer's  style  of  beauty.  Emily  thought,  as  she  looked  at 
her,  that  it  would  not  be  strange  if  the  young  doctor  should 
forswear  his  allegiance  to  Kate  for  the  sake  of  such  dazzling 
beauty. 

There  was  something  fascinating  in  the  dancing  eye  and 
rosy  mouth,  in  the  extreme  buoyancy  of  her  every  motion, 
and  in  the  faultless  contour  of  her  figure  that  won  Edward's 
admiration.  Wheir  did  a  young,  enthusiastic,  warm-hearted 
fellow,  like  our  Edward,  ever  see  a  beautiful  woman  and  not 
admire  her.  But  somehow  Dr.  Clarence  had  a  bad  habit  of 
measuring  every  one  by  Kate.  If  the  eyes  were  bright  "  they 
would  be  glorious  eyes  if  they  only  had  the  expression  of  hers." 
If  the  figure  was  fine,  "  it  would  be  magnificent  if  it  could 
glide  along  as  airily  as  hers ;"  if  the  mouth  was  pretty,  "  it 


316  KATE    WKSTON. 

would  be  a  perfect  rose-bud  if  it  could  but  wear  her  gentle 
smile."  Miss  Minnie  congratulated  herself  vastly  upon  her 
success,  when  she  saw  those  admiring  eyes  follow  her  figure  as 
she  tripped  like  a  young  gazelle  from  room  to  room,  attract- 
ing all  eyes  by  her  vivacious  beauty ;  but  if  she  could  have 
seen  the  many  "  ifs  "  and  "  buts  "  that  bounded  her  charms  so 
powerfully  in  the  estimation  of  the  young  doctor,  her  little 
jealous  heart  would  have  vowed  eternal  vengeance  against  her 
old  friend  Kate. 

"  You  say  you  do  not  approve  of  dancing  the  polka, 
doctor  ?"  she  cried,  whirling  herself,  very  impolitely  it  must  be 
confessed,  out  of  the  arms  of  her  cousin  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  dance,  and  standing  flushed  and  out  of  breath  directly 
before  him. 

"  I  do  not  approve  it,  certainly,"  was  the  answer.  "  Kate 
wouldn't  have  done  that,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  her 
discomfited  partner  turned  away,  and  sought  a  seat  with  some 
embarrassment  of  manner. 

"  Then  I'll  not  dance  it  any  more,"  she  cried  jestingly,  with 
an  arch  glance  of  her  laughing  eye.  "  Do  you  waltz  ?" 

"  Not  often,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  have  inherited  some  old 
fashioned  notions  about  such  things,  I  believe.  May  I  hope 
for  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you  in  the  next  cotil- 
lion ?" 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Minnie,  laying  her  head  coquettishly  on 
one  side.  "  I  believe  I'm  not  engaged ;  you  may  have  that 
exquisite  pleasure,  sir.  There's  Anna  Flip,  hasn't  she  splendid 
eyes  ?" 

"  Very  fine,  but  I  do  not  particularly  admire  brown  eyes." 
Then  turning  his  face  admiringly  upon  her,  he  added  softly, 
'  I  love  best  those 

'  Eyes 

That  have  gazed  on  heaven  till  they  caught  its  dyes.'  " 

He  thought,  even  as  he  spoke,  that  other  eyes  he  knew,  not 


KATE    WESTON.  817 

those,  had  "  gazed  on  heaven ;"  but  Minnie  took  the  compli- 
ment, and  blushed  so  prettily  that  he  was  tempted  to  add, 

"  The  richest  tint 

That  e'er  with  roselight  dyed  a  summer  cloud, 
Were  pale  beside  thy  cheek." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Minnie,  -with  a  heart  swelling  at  her  imagined 
triumph,  "  a  fig  for  your  flattery  ;  was  there  ever  a  gentleman 
who  didn't  flatter  ?" 

"  Or  a  lady  who  did  not  love  it  ?"  said  Edward,  laughing  ; 
"  I  know  of  one,"  whispered  his  heart. 

"  Nonsense !"  pouted  Minnie,  "  if  a  gentleman  doesn't  feel  it 
let  him  not  say  it ;  that's  what  I  think,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  smiling.     "  What  lady  is  that  ?" 

"  The  one  that  passed  us  in  black  velvet  and  swansdown  ? 
That's  Bella  Grey  from  New  York.  Hasn't  she  a  pretty 
neck  ?" 

Now  Minnie  knew  there  were  not  a  pair  of  shoulders  in  the 
room  to  vie  with  those  dimpled  ones,  at  that  moment  exposed 
by  the  sudden  shaking  of  a  shower  of  glossy  curls  back  from 
their  rounded  outline. 

Edward  did  not  notice  the  motion,  answering,  "  I  think  her 
very  fine-looking,  but  I  never  like  low-necked  dresses ;  they 
spoil  the  figure,  I  think."  Kate  never  wears  them,  his  heart 
again  suggested. 

Wasn't  it  provoking  ?  Here  was  a  young  lady  with  a  neck 
not  rivalled  by  a  Venus,  standing  to  be  told  by  the  gentleman 
she  had  set  her  heart  upon  conquering,  that  "  he  did  not  like 
low-necked  dresses,  they  spoiled  the  figure."  She  was  certain 
they  didn't  spoil  her  figure,  at  any  rate ;  but  she  recovered 
her  momentary  vexation,  exclaiming,  "  there,  I  believe  father's 
leading  the  way  to  supper  with  that  majestic  Mrs.  Flip. 
Shall  I  introduce  you  to  Miss  Grey  ?" 

"  By  no  means ;  I  prefer  your  company,  ma  belle,"  and  he 
drew  the  delicate  little  hand  through  his  arm ;  "  I  know  you 


318  KATE    WESTON. 

Avill  not  desert  me  now.  I  know  not  what  fairy  has  changed 
our  bright-eyed  little  Minnie  to  such  a  perfect  model  of  beauty 
in  three  short  years.  Why  you  are  a  very  queen  of  my  ideals, 
Minnie  ?" 

Oh !  Edward,  Edward !     A  coquette !  we  didn't  think  it. 

No,  it  was  not  coquetry.  Youth  is  youth,  Beauty  is 
beauty,  and  Youth  bows  always  at  the  shrine  of  Beauty. 
Ten  seconds  after  Edward*said  it,  he  thought  of  another,  not  a 
queen  but  the  queen  of  his  ideals.  He  had  little  vanity  himself, 
and  he  didn't  think  of  the  effect  his  words  might  have  on  the 
bewitching  little  bit  of  vanity  beside  him. 

Minnie  cast  an  exultant  glance  upon  her  friend  as  she 
passed  her  in  the  supper-room.  Emily  turned  several  times 
towards  them  as  they  chatted  together  in  a  little  nook  just  at 
the  end  of  the  table.  She  saw  Edward  take  a  small  rosebud 
from  a  vase  on  the  table  and  hand  it  to  her,  with  a  slight 
bend  towards  her,  and  a  whispered  word.  She  saw  Minnie's 
eyes  flash  suddenly,  then  saw  the  dark  lashes  droop  upon  her 
crimsoning  cheek.  "Is  it  possible?"  she  thought.  "I'm 
sure  Kate  Weston  is  forgotten  now." 

Mistaken,  Emily! 

Presently  Minnie  started  up,  and  flew  by  her.  to  the  table 
where  the  glittering  decanters  stood,  surrounded  by  silver 
goblets  and  wine-glasses  of  the  richest  beauty.  She  looked 
among  them,  and  seizing  a  small  bottle,  glided  back  to  the 
recess.  Then  pouring  out  two  glasses,  she  exclaimed :  "  This  is 
some  wine  father  bought  before  I  was  born,  I  was  determined 
you  should  have  some ;  there,  drink  my  health  now." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Edward,  setting  his  glass  upon  a  small 
stand  beside  them,  "  I  will  drink  your  health  in  a  glass  of 
water." 

The  young  lady  set  down  her  own  glass  suddenly,  and  cast 
a  bewitching  glance  of  piqued  vanity  at  her  companion. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  can  pledge  you  as  much  happiness  in 
this  ?"  said  Edward,  holding  up  a  glass  of  sparkling  water. 


KATE    WESTON.  3j.y 

She  had  half  a  mind  to  be  angry,  but  as  she  looked  up, 
those  dark  eyes  met  her  own,  and  their  power  was  irresistible. 
She  caught  the  water  from  his  hand,  and  snatching  the  wine- 
glass from  the  stand,  stood  up  before  him,  poising  it  gracefully 
in  one  hand,  and  looking  up  into  his  face  so  appealingly. 
Emily  thought,  as  the  motion  caught  her  eye  it,  would  have  been 
a  picture  worthy  of  a  Raphael's  pencil ;  the  dark  back-ground 
of  the  window  draperies,  that  noble  figure,  the  flush  of  youth- 
ful manhood,  looking  down  with  an  expression  half  amuse- 
ment, half  admiration  upon  the  little  Hebe,  with  her  rosy 
lips  pouting,  and  her  eyes  appealing  with  all  their  spell  of 
witchery,  as  she  held  out  the  magic  draught  for  his  accept- 
ance. 

"  Now,  Dr.  Clarence,"  she  cried,  "  can  you  have  the  imper- 
tinence to  refuse  drinking  with  a  lady,  when  she  has  threaded 
that  human  labyrinth  to  procure  the  draught,  and  when  I 
tell  you  it  is  older  (and  sweeter  of  course),  than  I  am." 

"  Not  sweeter,  Minnie,"  said  Edward  softly. 

The  rich  blood  mantled  to  her  cheeks  again,  rendering  her 
still  more  fascinating. 

"  Come  now,  I'm  sure  your  compliments  are  all  deceit  if 
you  cannot  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me." 

To  him  it  was  a  tempting  chalice,  held  by  a  tempting  hand. 
"  Your  promise,"  conscience  whispered.  "  My  promise  did 
not  involve  this,"  he  thought. 

"  I'll  not  move  a  step  till  you  take  this  glass,  and  drain  it, 
sir,"  said  Minnie,  changing  her  tone,  and  assuming  a  mock 
tragic  attitude,  "  'Twere  vain  to  strive  to  break  thy  chain — " 

"  Which  I  would  not  if  I  could,"  answered  the  young  man, 
taking  the  glass  from  her  hand;  "but,  to  release  thee,  fair 
tyrant,  from  durance  vile,  I  yield  to  thy  command." 

Oh !  Edward,  thy  first  words  had  a  double  meaning. 


820  KATE 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  DAT  or  two  after,  Kate  and  Edward  were  sitting  in  the 
old-fashioned  parlor  of  Mr.  Weston's  house.  The  great  wood- 
fire  burned  cheerily  in  the  chimney.  The  high-backed  chairs 
and  huge  mahogany  side-board  accorded  well  with  its  spark- 
ling blaze.  The  only  modern  article  in  the  room  was  Kate's 
piano,  that  looked  almost  out  of  keeping  with  its  antique 
neighbors. 

Kate  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  singing  "  The  Ingle  Side," 
and  Edward,  after  joining  in  the  first  verse,  stood  over  her, 
stroking  back  her  hair,  that  she  had  curled  that  day  to  please 
his  fancy.  When  she  had  finished,  she  turned  round  suddenly, 
and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Edward* 
you  don't  sing  at  all  to-night,  it's  time  for  .me  to  give  up,  I 
think,  when  you  look  so  blue  over  it." 

"  I  wasn't  looking  blue,"  he  answered  smiling.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  that  day,  more  than  three  years  ago,  when  you 
and  I,  Katie,  sat  out  in  your  bower  by  the  water's  edge.  Do 
you  remember  ?" 

"  Do  I  remember  ?  Edward !" 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,  darling ;  I  know  you  remember,  but 
I  was  just  looking  forward,  and  I  hardly  thought1  exactly  what 
I  was  saying.  You  thought  we  were  not  old  enough  then, 
we  are  old  enough  now,  Katie.  I  have  half  doubted  your  love 
lately,  you  delay  my  happiness  so  long." 

"  Father's  health  is  so  feeble,  he  could  hardly  spare  me 
now ;  but  if  you  will  come  here,  Edward,  and  be  content  to 
divide  my  attention,  then  " 


KATE    WESTON.  321 

"  Then  you  will  be  mine,  dearest,  soon,  very  soon." 

"  Not  before  summer,  Edward ;  mother  will  not  consent ; 
but  you  will  have  to  be  very  generous  if  father  keeps  so  ill ; 
he  can  hardly  bear  me  out  of  his  sight  for  two  or  three 
hours." 

"I'll  try  to  'cultivate  the  grace  of  patience,'  as  Father  Ben- 
son would  say,  and  not  monopolize  too  mucn  of  your  atten- 
tion. I  long  so  to  come  home  to  you,  dearest,  after  the  toils 
of  the  day,  and  to  feel  that  I  may  seek  you  whenever  and 
wherever  I  please,  'without  observing  these  provoking  for- 
malities." 

"  But  we  are  sure  of  each  other's  love,  wherever  we  may 
be,  and  however  often  separated,"  said  Kate,  her  eye  beaming, 
and  her  cheek  flushing,  as  Edward  pressed  his  lips  to  her 
forehead. 

"  But  that  is  not  all,  Kate,  when  mind  and  body  are  alike 
weary,  it  does  not  satisfy  me  to  think  of  you ;  I  want  to  see 
you,  and  hear  your  voice,  and  feel  that  you  are  my  own  sweet 
wife." 

The  blush  deepened  on  Kate's  cheek,  the  eyelids  drooped, 
and  the  little  hand  he  was  holding  trembled  as  it  softly 
returned  his  pressure.  He  thought  she  had  never  looked  so 
beautiful. 

"  Will  you  wear  your  hair  curled  always,  Kate  ?  I  like  to 
see  you  so,  my  queen  of  beauty,"  and  he  arranged  the  tresses 
over  her  face  to  suit  his  fancy. 

She  threw  them  back,  and  laughed,  as  she  answered,  "  You 
will  soon  have  a  right  to  lay  me  under  your  marital  com- 
mands, according  to  your  own  telling,  so  I  beg  of  you  do  not 
compel  me  to  undertake  such  a  task  as  this  every  day  at 
present.  Why,  it  took  me  a  full  half  hour  to  prepare  these 
precious  tBesses  for  your  admiration.  Mother,"  she  added, 
lifting  up  the  golden  curls,  as  Mrs.  Weston  entered,  "don't 
you  think  it's  a  great  waste  of  time  to  try  pleasing  Edward 
with  these  troublesome  ornaments  ?" 
14* 


322  KATE    WESTON. 

"No  waste  of  time  to  please  Edward,"  was  Mrs.  Wes- 
ton's  answer,  "  but  you  must  remember,  my  children,  the 
rule  of  the  inspired  Apostle,  '  Let  not  your  adorning  be  the 
plaiting  of  the  hair,  and  wearing  of  gold,  and  the  putting  on  of 
apparel,  but  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which 
is  in  the  sight  of  God  of  great  price.'  Edward  must  be  care- 
full  not  to  let  vdfcity  creep  into  your  heart,  Kate.  It  is  a  weed 
that  is  hard  rooting  out  again." 

" I  have  no  fear  for  her"  said  he,  casting  upon  the  sweet, 
glowing  face,  a  glance  of  almost  triumphant  admiration. 

"  Thou  art  a  young  man  yet,  and  a  lover,  at  that,  my  boy. 
Wait  till  Time  proves  your  treasure,"  but  the  smile  that  lit 
the  gentle  eyes  beaming  over  the  spectacles  upon  her  child, 
proved  that  she,  at  least,  was  satisfied  with  the  trial  she  had 
made  of  the  noble  girlish  character. 

"  Come  now,  my  daughter,  tea  is  ready,  and  we  must  not 
keep  it  waiting,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  leading  the  way  into 
the  dining-room  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall.  Just  as  they 
entered  the  hall,  Edward's  steps  were  suddenly  arrested  by 
a  rap,  rap,  rap  upon  the  door,  followed  immediately  by  a 
thump,  thump,  thump,  of  a  cane  on  the  stone  steps  outside. 

"  Father  Benson  !"  he  exclaimed,  flying  to  open  the  door. 
"  You  can  never  mistake  his  knock" 

The  old  gentleman  fluttered  into  'the  house,  dropped  pack- 
age, hat,  gloves  and  all,  right  down  upon  the  floor,  everything 
but  the  cane  which  he  was  holding  in  one  hand,  and  a  letter 
which  he  held  aloft  in  the  other.  He  did  not  stop  for  the 
usual  civilities,  but  ran  up  to  Edward,  almost  breathless  with 
delight. 

"  My  Willie  is  coming  at  last," — rap,  rap,  rap,  he's  in  the 
vessel  that's  to  bring  him  home ;  sing  aloud,  Edward  my  boy, 
kill  the  fatted  calf,  and  make  merry,"  rap,  rap,  rap,  "  my  son 
that  was  dead  is  alive  again ;  didn't  I  say  it,  after  three  years, 
everything  goes  by  threes  ;  he's  got  a  boy  too,  to  bring  home 
with  him,"  rap,  rap,  rap,  "  poor  fellow,  he's  lost  his  wife,  and 


KATE    WESTON.  323 

his  poor  mother,"  here  the  little  old  gentleman's  voice  grew 
hysterical,  "but  my  boy  is  free  at  last — at  last !"  rap,  rap,  rap, 
went  the  cane,  twinkle,  twinke,  twinkle, — blink,  blink,  blink, 
went  the  eyes,  and  the  aged  father  burst  into  a  cry  of  joy ; 
his  cane  went  so  incessantly,  his  feet  danced  about  so  nerv- 
ously beneath  the  long  skirts  of  his  overcoat,  and  his  whole 
frame  was  under  the  influence  of  such  violent  excitement, 
that  it  was  not  until  Edward  had  drawn  him  gently  into  the 
dining-room,  Kate  had  almost  forced  him  into  the  old- 
fashioned  easy-chair,  and  Mrs.  Weston  had  used  all  her 
magical  powers  of  soothing,  that  they  succeeded  in  ascertain- 
ing fully  the  cause  of  his  exultation."  "  Read  that,"  he  cried, 
at  last,  "  read  it,  and  you  will  be  ready  to  kill  the  fatted  calf; 
read  it  aloud,  Edward,  my  boy ;  you  see,"  he  added  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  "  everything  goes  by  threes." 

Edward  read  the  letter  aloud,  as  he  had  requested  ;  his  heart 
throbbed  with  a  quick  anguish  for  the  poor  old  man,  as  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  date.  But  he  saw  instantly  that  it  would 
be  cruel  and  unwise  to  dash  this  new  hope  so  suddenly  from 
his  heart ;  so  he  read  on,  interrupted  at  every  few  sentences 
by  the  inspired  cane,  or  the  gleeful  chuckling  of  the  eager 
father.  "  I  told  you  so,  he'd  break  away  at  last,  hear  — hear, 
he's  to  be  home  in  three  months,  everything  goes  by  threes ! 
ha!  ha!" 

"When  the  precious  document  was  finished,  he  looked 
round  upon  them  all  with  the  most  triumphant  confidence, 
bobbing  his  little  head,  all  silvered  over  with  the  frost  of 
seventy  winters,  and  rubbing  his  hands  in  perfect  ecstasy. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  letter,  Father  Benson  ?"  asked 
Edward  as  he  returned  it  to  him. 

"  Mary  gave  it  me  just  now,"  he  answered,  "  as  I  was  going 
by  the  door ;  Jeremiah  wasn't  in,  so  I  read  it  coming  along, 
well  as  I  could  with  my  old  eyes  and  spectacles ;  but  I  only 
just  made  out  that  my  boy  was  coming  at  last,  after  so  long, 
oh !  so  long !" 


324  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Let  me  see  it  a  moment,"  said  Kate,  stepping  up  with 
her  back  towards  Father  Benson,  and  holding  up  her  fingers 
significantly  to  Edward.  "May  I  keep  it  for  you,  Father 
Benson,  and  then  you  can  come  here  and  I'll  read  it  for  you 
every  day,  if  you  like." 

The  old  gentleman  looked  puzzled,  but  Edward,  who  had 
understood  her  gesture,  explained  the  matter  quite  satis- 
factorily, by  saying,  "  T.  Gamp  and  Co.  might  get  hold  of  it, 
you  know,  and  then  " — 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  see,  I  see,"  cried  Father  Benson,  in  a  half- vexed 
tone ;  "  the  hyenas  always  got  everything  away  that  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  my  boy,  even  the  model  steam-engine  he 
had  taken  such  pains  to  construct.  His  poor  mother  cried 
so  when  they  carried  that  away,  after  my  Willie  was 
gone  "  (his  voice  trembled  again  here),  "  and  if  they  knew," 
he  added,  in  an  excited  whisper,  "  that  he  was  coming  back 
in  three  months,  they  might  lay  traps  to  get  him  before  me, 
mightn't  they «" 

"  You  had  better  leave  the  letter  here,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Edward,  taking  a  seat  at  the  tea-table,  in  obedience  to  Mrs. 
Weston's  gesture.  He  whispered  to  Kate,  as  she  seated  her- 
self beside  him.  "  He  might  never  notice  the  date,  but  it's 
better  to  be  careful ;  he  is  unable  to  bear  much  now." 

Mrs.  Weston  was  called  by  the  village  ladies,  a  "  tip  top 
housekeeper."  The  arrangements  of  her  table  were  conducted 
in  a  manner  that  would  have  done  credit  even  to  a  Yankee 
housewife.  The  white,  light  bread,  the  golden  butter,  the 
exquisite  honey,  the  tender  chicken,  and  the  crisp  crullers 
were  perfect  in  their  kind.  Added  to  this,  the  snowy  cloth, 
the  antique  silver  tea-service,  the  polished  knives,  and  more 
than  all,  the  attractive  courtesy  of  the  hostess,  made  a  meal  at 
Mrs.  Weston's  more  agreable  than  a  feast  at  many  homes. 
Father  Benson  was  won  at  last  through  Kate's  unremitting 
endeavors  to  pay  some  little  attention  to  his  supper,  but  excel- 
lent as  it  was,  he  forgot  himself  every  little  while,  and  fell  to 


KATE    WESTON.  325 

rapping  on  the  table  with  the  handle  of  his  fork,  calling  upon 
the  whole  company  to  "  kill  the  fatted  calf,"  and  asserting 
emphatically  that  "  everything  goes  by  threes." 

Edward  had  hardly  commenced  his  supper,  when  another 
knock  came  at  the  outer  door,  and  a  moment  after  Rosy's 
yellow  turban  was  thrust  into  the  room.  "  Lawsakes,  Massa 
Edward,  nebber  you  mind  noting  bout  dem  remaginary  people. 
Jest  stay  and  include  your  supper." 

"  What  '  remaginary '  people,  Rosy  ?  you  haven't  told  me 
yet ;"  said  Edward,  with  a  smile.  "  Does  anybody  want  to 
exclude  my  supper  ?" 

"  Dem  'ere  Stetsons,  ober  t'oder  side  ob  de  river.  Dey's 
oilers  'larmed  bout  noting  at  all.  Shame  to  send  arter  you, 
anyhow,  sich  an  orful  night  as  dis  yer.  'Pears  dey  might  a' 
gone  fur  Dr.  Higgins  to-night." 

"Excuse  me  a  moment,  I  will  step  out  and  see,"  said 
Edward,  leaving  the  table.  A  man,  wrapped  in  a  large  over- 
coat, stood  at  the  door.  "  Please,  doctor,  Mr.  Stetson's  youngest 
child  has  been  taken  with  the  croup,  and  he  wanted  me  to 
bring  you  back  with  me,  if  you  were  at  home.  They  are 
afraid  it  won't  live  till  you  get  there." 

"  I'll  go  with  you  directly,"  answered  the  young  doctor. 
Just  warm  yourself  by  the  fire.  How  will  you  cross  the 
river  ?" 

"  There  is  a  boat  waiting,  sir." 

Edward  stepped  into  the  dining-room,  at  the  same  time 
drawing  on  his  overcoat,  stated  to  the  family  the  cause  of  his 
sudden  summons,  and  flew  out  into  the  hall.  Kate  snatched 
his  cup,  followed  him,  and  made  him  swallow  the  remainder 
of  his  coffee.  He  looked  a  little  disappointed,  and  she  saw  it. 
"  Never  mind,  Edward,  we'll  take  our  sleigh-ride  to-morrow 
night.  "  Here's  my  shawl ;  nay,  you  must  wear  it ;  crossing 
the  river  will  be  terrible ;  take  care  of  yourself,  you  reckless 
boy ;  not  on  your  own  account,  but  mine,  you  know." 

Edward  smuggled  a  sly  kiss  as  the  driver  passed  down  the 


326  KATE    WESTON. 

walk,  and  in  two  minutes  was  rattling  away  on  his  mission  of 
mercy.  They  drove  rapidly  until  they  came  to  a  spot  upon  the 
road  where  a  perpendicular  cliff  at  the  side  overhung  a  rocky 
chasm  of  fearful  depth  below.  Here  they  came  suddenly  upon 
a  crowd  of  men  who  had  gathered  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice. 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  said  Edward  to  the  driver,  "  let  us  see 
what  is  the  matter  here." 

One  of  the  men  turned  round  as  he  leaped  from  the  sleigh, 
and  went  towards  them.  "  There's  no  use  o'  you,  doctor,"  he 
said,  as  he  recognized  him.  "  Nobody  could  topple  onto  those 
rocks  and  be  alive  five  minutes  afterwards." 

"  Has  any  one  fallen  there  ?""  cried  Edward,  the  blood  chill- 
ing in  his  veins. 

"  Some  woman  was  staggering  along  in  front  of  Jonathan 
Meeks,  and  all  of  a  sudden  we  see  her  go  right  over.  We 
warn't  near  enough  to  help  her,  but  the  moon  and  snow 
together  was  so  bright,  we  see  her  plain  as  day." 

His  listener  shuddered.  "  And  didn't  you  know  who  she 
was  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No  sir,  we  got  no  chance  to  see  her,  she  was  so  far  ahead 
of  us. .  Jonathan  Meeks  and  Big  Sam's  gone  round  arter  her. 
There,  they's  coming  up  the  hill  to  the  side  yonder." 

"  You'll  have  to  wait  a  moment,"  said  Edward  to  the  driver. 
"  I  must  stay  and  see  if  there  is  any  hope  of  restoring  life. 
How  terrible  !"  he  murmured,  as  he  looked  from  that  giddy 
height  into  the  chasm  below.  "  There  can  be  no  hope." 

As  the  men  neared  the  top  of  the  hill,  he  advanced  to  meet 
them.  "You're  here  just  in  time,  doctor,"  said  a  man  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  body,  "  wan't  it  lucky  ye  happened  along 
just  this  minute  ?  We  sent  one  man  right  off  arter  you,  and 
another  arter  Dr.  Higgins,  but  we  hadn't  no  idee  either  one'd 
get  here  afore  another  half-hour." 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  asked  Edward.     "  Is  she  alive  ?" 

"  It's  Sally  Jones,  sir ;  she  ain't  dead  yet,  though  I  guess 


KATE   WESTON.  327 

she's  mighty  nigh  it.     She's  orfully  smashed,  though — it's 
drefful !" 

When  they  reached  him,  they  stopped,  and  laid  her  on  a 
buffalo  that  Edward  had  taken  from  the  sleigh.  It  was  a  hor-- 
rible  sight,  that  ghastly  bloated  face,  distorted  with  violent  pas- 
sions, turned  upward  to  the  pure  moonlight.  The  tangled  hair 
was  literally  drenched  in  blood,  and  every  few  moments  a 
fierce  spasm  contorted  the  upper  half  of  the  figure:  The 
young  physician,  although  with  a  sickness  at  his  heart,  stooped 
over  her,  and  used  every  method  to  restore  her  to  sense.  But 
after  a  few  minutes'  effort,  she  started  up,  cast  up  her  arms, 
fixed  upon  his  face  one  long  look  of  anguish  and  remorse  that 
haunted  him  for  years,  and  fell  back  stiff  in  death  upon  the 
ground. 

There  was  nothing  further  for  him  to  do ;  he  left  the  men 
to  carry  home  their  ghastly  burden,  and  hurried  on  to  his 
destination.  The  wind  came  with  a  chilly  sweep  down  the 
Hudson,  as  they  crossed  the  water  in  a  large  row-boat  belong- 
ing to  Mr.  Stetson.  "  'Taint  no  sort  of  a  night  to  be  dragging 
you  over  here,  that's  a  fact,  doctor,"  said  the  boatman,  as  he 
tugged  at  the  oar.  "But  Mrs.  Stetson's  powerful  nervous^ 
and  she's  took  a  fancy  nobody  can't  serve  her  but  you.  How- 
somever,  Master.  Charlie  is  mighty  bad  to-night,  anyhow." 

The  little  boy's  illness  had  excited  great  alarm.  As  Edward 
rode  up  through  the  grove  surrounding  "the  noble  mansion 
lights  gleamed  through  the  leafless  trees  from  almost  every 
window.  When  he  reached  the  door,  he  was  eagerly  drawn 
within  by  Mr.  Stetson,  who  was  pale  with  anxiety,  and  conducted 
immediately  to  the  suffering  child.  The  scene  was  one  that 
is  always  terrifying  in  the  extreme  to  an  inexperienced  parent, 
and  even  one  which  the  best  physicians  cannot  look  upon 
without  serious  alarm.  The  little  fellow  was  struggling  for 
breath ;  it  was  evident  that  some  effective  remedy  must  be 
used  immediately.  Edward  took  a  small  box  from  his  pocket, 
mixed  a  powder,  and  administered  it  to  the  sufferer.  Then 


328  KATE    WESTON. 

stripping  up  his  sleeves,  he  proceeded  to  bathe  the  little  feet 
with  his  own  hands.  Active  and  sympathetic,  he  was  not  con- 
tented with  performing  the  stated  duties  of  his  profession, 
and  could  never  see  his  patients  suffer,  without  taking  upon 
himself  half  the  duties  of  nurse. 

It  was  some  hours  before  the  little  creature  was  in  a  con- 
dition that  warranted  the  warm-hearted  doctor  in  leaving  him. 
He  was  urged  very  strongly  by  Mr.  Stetson  to  pass  the  night, 
but  he  remembered  another  sufferer  whom  he  bad  promised 
to  visit  that  night,  so  he  was  firm  in  declining  his  invita- 
tion. 

"  Your  little  one  is  out  of  danger  for  to-night,  Mrs.  Stetson," 
said  he,  stooping  over  to  listen  to  the  infant's  breath.  "  If  he 
should  be  worse  to-morrow,  you  will  have  to  send  for  me 
again." 

The  tears  sprang  to  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Stetson  as  she  shook 
his  hand  in  parting.  "  Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have 
never  seen  a  doctor  who  seemed  to  feel  so  keenly  for  suffering 
before.  We  should  not  have  sent  for  you  to  take  such  an 
unpleasant  journey  to-night,  but  that  I  could  not  trust  to 
another  physician." 

Edward  colored  at  the  compliment  uttered  by  the  lady  in  a 
half-apologetic  tone,  and  said  laughingly,  "  Oh !  Mrs.  Stetson, 
I'd  never  choose  a  profession  unless  my  heart  were  in  it,  and 
wherever  so  stanck  a  patron  as  Mr.  Stetson  is  concerned,  it 
would  certainly  be  for  my  interest  to  take  a  little  trouble. 
Good  evening." 

"  Nonsense !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Stetson,  as  they  passed  down 
the  stairs ;  "  I've  known  you  too  long,  doctor,  for  any  of  that 
palaver ;  interest  alone  wouldn't  have  brought  you  over  here 
to-night,  unless  your  heart  had  something  to  do  with  it." 

"  You  seem  inclined  to  flatter  me  this  evening,  at  anyrate," 
said  Edward,  taking  his  hat  from  the  stand  in  the  hall. 

"  Stop  for  a  few  moments,  doctor,  1  beg  of  you,"  exclaimed 
his  companion,  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  half-fore- 


KATE    WKSTON.  329 

ing  him  into  the  dining-room.  "  You  did  not  think  I  would 
allow  you  to  return  at  midnight  without  refreshment" 

At  this  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a  tray  containing 
some  sandwiches  and  cold  chicken,  and  Mr.  Stetson  unlocking 
a  small  closet,  drew  out  a  bottle  of  wine.  Edward  was  very 
tired,  for  his  day's  labor,  previous  to  his  evening  journey,  had 
been  wearisome,  so  that  he  enjoyed  his  late  repast  exceedingly. 
A  flitting  thought  of  Kate's  warning  for  an  instant  stayed  his 
hand  as  he  was  lifting  the  wine  glass  to  his  lips,  but  the  next 
moment  he  thought  of  his  exciting  ride,  and  bodily  fatigue, 
and  felt  convinced  that  it  was  not  for  such  occasions  that  her 
caution  was  intended. 

The  draught  certainly  refreshed  him,  body  and  mind,  ren- 
dering him  in  a  measure  impervious  to  the  cold  blast  that 
swept  the  river,  and  the  terrible  shadows  that  seemed  hover- 
ing about  the  spot  where  he  had  that  evening  seen  Death  in 
one  of  its  most  fearful  forms. 

Yet — yet — it  was  unsafe. 


330  KATE   WESTON. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

ALICE  AINSLIE'S  wedding  was  over.  The  affair  was  not 
essentially  different  from  other  weddings.  There  was  the 
usual  amount  of  white  satins,  French  laces,  and  orange  flowers. 
There  were  little  cakes  and  large  cakes,  temples  of  liberty 
made  of  sugar  candy,  and  grottoes  of  candied  nuts.  The 
world  said  it  was  a  very  pleasant  wedding;  probably  they 
referred  to  the  white  satins  and  sugar  candy  ;  but  once,  for  a 
wonder,  the  world  and  the  parties  interested  agreed.  Not  one 
of  the  whole  family  but  were  pleased  with  the  match,  except, 
indeed,  poor  Clarence,  who  fretted  so  much  over  it  for  a 
month  beforehand,  that  he  looked  very  miserable  indeed  on 
the  eventful  day. 

Judge  Ainslie,  in  tremulous  tones,  had  spoken  the  parting 
blessing — the .  mother  had  offered  the  parting  kiss — Aunt 
Sophie,  in  her  gentle,  stately  way,  had  given  the  parting 
advice,  and  the  children  had  cried  till  their  eyes  were  red,  and 
their  faces  swollen,  totally  unmollified  by  the  promise  of  the 
entire  ruins  of  the  temple  of  liberty,  and  the  grottoes  of  candied 
nuts.  Mr.  Pufton  had  whisked  about  jollily  enough,  with  his 
little  face  all  of  a  blaze  ("  a  regular  nice  Liverpool  coal  fire," 
as  Alice  afterwards  told  Aunt  Sophy),  sending  out  cheer  and 
warmth  all  over  the  room.  Edward  had  offered  his  congratu- 
lations, not  so  much'  with  the  lips,  as  with  the  true  brotherly 
feeling  beaming  out  from  those  glorious  eyes.  Kate  had  offered 
her  soft  kiss  without  speaking,  but  the  gathering  tears  said 
more  than  words.  Sophronia,  in  a  more  than  ordinarily  glorious 
head-dress,  had  taken  a  queenly  leave  of  the  charming  bride 


KATE   WESTOX.  331 

and  noble  groom,  and  they  were  off  and  away  to  share  heart 
•and  life  together,  so  long  as  heart  should  beat,  or  life  should 
last. 

At  Mrs.  Ainslie's  earnest  request,  Kate  had  consented  to 
stay  for  a  few  days  after  her  daughter's  departure.  It  was 
sorely  against  her  inclination  to  leave  her  invalid  father,  b.ut 
Edward  urged  that  she  was  suffering  from  confinement,  and 
her  mother  said,  "  Go,  Kate,  thou  must  get  back  thy  roses,  or 
I  shall  have  both  thee  and  thy  father  to  nurse  before  spring." 
So  she  had  yielded,  and  Edward  suddenly  discovejed  that  he 
had  some  important  business  in  the  city,  although  he  could 
not  make  out  at  all  to  anybody's  satisfaction,  where  the 
importance  lay. 

The  morning  after  the  wedding,  Mr.  Pufton  was  ambling 
along  towards  his  warehouse.  Few  people  were  as  yet  astir, 
for  he  was  always  up  betimes,  so  that  he  might  get  through 
sooner ;  he  said,  he  "  liked  plenty  of  time  to  play." 

"  As  he  passed  James  Slip,  he  saw  a  crowd  of  men  gathered 
out  at  the  end  of  the  dock  about  some  object  of  apparent 
interest.  He  advanced  towards  them,  and  elbowed  his  way 
through,  until  he  could  see  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

On  the  ground  before  him,  a  woman  was  sitting,  with  her 
head  down,  and  an  old  hood  over  her  eyes.  A  little  further 
on,  a  little  girl  knelt  with  her  back  towards  him,  leaning  for- 
ward with  arms  folded,  and  extended  above  something  that 
lay  beneath  them,  while  stifled  sobs  burst  out  from  the  little 
bosom  that  bent  brooding  over  the  object  of  solicitude. 

A  tall  stout  gentleman,  with  one  of  those  peculiarly  bland 
countenances  that  finds  instantly  the  path  to  every  heart,  was 
talking  to  one  of  the  two  policemen. 

"Can  nothing  be  done  for  the  child?"  he  asked,  "nothing?" 

"  No  sir,  'taint  no  use,"  was  the  reply.  "  The  child's  dead 
as  a  hammer,  and  all  we've  got  to  do  is  to  see  to  the  woman. 
Come,  get  up,  won't  you  ?"  He  had  hold  of  her  arm,  and  was 
trying  to  rouse  her.  "  You  see,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  again, 


332  KATE    WESTON. 

"  we  are  so  used  to  such  sorts  o'  things,  we  don't  feel  so 
tender  like  over  'em  as  you." 

As  he  continued  endeavoring  to  draw  the  woman  from  the 
ground,  she  at  last  lifted  her  head  and  looked  around  her 
with  a  stupid  stare.  Pufton  stood  .directly  in  front  of  her} 
and  as  he  met  the  expression  of  those  blood-shot  eyes,  he 
turned  suddenly  round,  as  if  he  would  escape.  But  the  crowd 
hemmed  him  in  on  every  side,  so  he  flew  round  to  where  the 
little  girl  was  kneeling,  and  looked  in  under  the  brooding 
arms.  There  lay  a  little  figure,  but  half-clad,  and  a  little  face 
that  he  had  seen  before,  motionless  as  now,  with  a  black  stain 
'  around  the  mouth  and  eyes,  that  told  of  the  dread  death- 
agony.  It  needed  not  the  cry  that  burst  from  Lucy's  lips,  as 
her  eye  fell  upon  him,  nor  the  look  of  living  anguish  on  her 
face,  to  make  the  little  gentleman  lose  all  self-control,  and 
sob  and  cry  like  a  suffering  child. 

This  time  he  was  totally  overcome.  He  forgot  the  crowd 
the  observation  he  was  attracting,  everything  but  those  three 
human  beings  upon  the  ground  before  him.  One  of  the 
policemen  at  last  succeeded  in  getting  the  intoxicated  woman 
to  her  feet,  and  leading  her  away.  The  other  advanced  to 
the  child.  "  Come,  my  little  one,"  he  said  in  a  softened  tone' 
"  I  will  carry  away  the  baby  for  you." 

Lucy  bent  lower  over  her  treasure.  "  No,  I'll  take  care  of 
him,"  she  sobbed,  "  leave  me  alone." 

The  man  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute ;  then  he  stooped, 
and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her  arm.  She  uttered  a  scream, 
and  turned  wildly  towards  the  benevolent  gentleman  who  was 
looking  on  with  tearful  eyes.  "Oh,  don't  let  him  take  Millie 
away;  don't — sir.  I'll  watch  here,  I'm  going  to  lie  down 
here  and  die  with  her." 

u  My  child,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "  you  shall  go  with  her ;  we 
don't  want  to  leave  you  here  in  the  cold." 

"  I  can  stay  where  Millie  stays.  Oh,"  she  cried  in  a  fresh 
burst,  "  Mother  wasn't  so  once ;  she  used  to  love  us,  and  take 


KATE    WESTON.  333 

care  of  us  before  father  died,  but  now  she  has  killed  Charlie 
and  Millie,  and  she'll  kill  me  some  day,  I'm  sure  she  will.  I'd 
rather  lie  down  here  and  die  with  Millie,"  and  the  child 
actually  stretched  herself  down  upon  the  ground,  and  pressed 
her  arms  tightly  over  the  little  stiff  figure. 

"  You'll  find  it  hardern  you  think  for  to  die  there,"  said  the 
policeman,  rubbing  his  coarse  sleeve  across  his  eyes.  "Jingo, 
I've  seen  many  a  human  crittur  wanted  to  lie  down  and  die, 
but  I  never  see  one  so  little  as  you  before." 

The  benevolent  gentleman  bent  on  one  knee  beside  her. 
"  Suppose,  my  child,  you  get  up  and  carry  Millie  to  a  nice 
bed  that  I'll  find  for  you,  and  then  you  can  lie  down  by  her, 
if  you  like.  Do  you  think  you  could  carry  her  ?" 

The  child  looked  up  into  his  face,  then  rose  without  speak- 
ing, allowed  him  to  lay  her  little  dead  sister  on  her  arms,  and 
tottered  away,  almost  falling  beneath  the  burden.  The  gentle- 
man was  walking  beside  her,  but  he  was  stopped  by  Mr.  Puf- 
ton.  "  Wait  sir, — one  minute  sir — I  must  speak,  sir," — 

"  You  can  take  them  up  to in  that  hack  yonder,"  said 

the  gentleman,  turning  to  the  policeman,  "I'll  follow  directly." 
Susan  turned  round  with  a  doubtful  glance,  but  he  reassured 
her  by  saying,  "  Go,  my  little  one,  I'll  come  in  a  few  minutes, 
don't  be  afraid." 

"You  see,  sir,"  began  Mr.  Pufton,  wiping  his  eyes,  and 
striving  with  all  his  might  to  get  breath  to  speak,  "  I  wanted 
to  tell  you,  sir — I  did  it,  sir — I  smothered  that  baby,  sir — 
Rick  Ryker,  sir — my  porter,  sir,  his  wife,  sir — fact  is,  sir — I 
ought  to  be  hanged,  sir — give  me  your  card,  sir." — At  every 
other  word,  poor  Mr.  Pufton  swallowed  a  big  sob,  and  tried 
to  crowd  back  the  tears  with  his  handkerchief.  It  was  of 
little  use  though,  for  he  could  barely  make  himself  intel- 
ligible. 

The  gentleman  took  out  his  card,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"Thought  so,  sir — clergyman,  sir — I'll  call  on  you,  sir, 
this  evening  at  eight,  sir — meantime — sir — here — sir — I  can't 


334  KATE    WESTON. 

do  it,  sir — take  care  of  them,  sir ;" — and  fumbling  a  bill  out 
of  his  pocket-book  into  tho  gentleman's  hand,  he  trotted 
away,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  talking  to  himself,  before  Dr.  D. 
could  recover  his  surprise  sufficiently  to  follow  him. 

He  talked  away  all  the  way  to  his  store,  without  knowing 
when  he  reached  it,  if  he  had  passed  anybody  on  the  way. 
He  entered,  sent  away  the  porter,  closed  the  door,  locked 
it,  and  seated  himself  deliberately  to  think  for  a  whole  fore- 
noon. It  was  tough  work  though.  Every  few  minutes  he 
was  out  of  his  chair,  running  up  and  down  the  store,  bobbing 
his  head,  and  shaking  his  arms ;  then  down  upon  his  seat 
again,  where  by  dint  of  drawing  himself  close  to  the  counter, 
he  could  manage  to  keep  still  for  ten  minutes  or  so ;  then 
back  went  the  chair,  and  the  big  heart  sent  the  little  body 
adrift  again. 

That  evening  he  kept  his  appointment  with  Dr.  D.  The 
reverend  gentleman  was  sitting  at  his  study  fire,  as  Mr.  Puf- 
ton  was  ushered  into  his  presence.  The  fine  large  head  was 
bald  on  the  top,  except  a  small  dark  lock  just  over  the  fore- 
head, and  his  little  daughter  was  rubbing  her  hand  softly 
over  it.  As  Mr.  Pufton  entered,  saluting  the  clergyman, 
and  shaking  hands  with  the  little  girl,  her  father  made  a 
motion,  and  the  child  withdrew. 

What  was  passing  between  them  was  a  subject  of  specu- 
lation to  Biddy  in  the  kitchen,  who  was  waiting  to  let  the 
visitor  out,  for  the  poor  girl  sat  trying  to  force  open  her 
sleepy  eyes  until  twelve  o'clock  that  night  before  he  departed. 
Once  or  twice  she  went  softly  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  to 
listen,  but  she  could  only  .catch,  "Yes  sir — 'pon  my  word 
sir — think  so  myself,  sir — half  thought  so  long  ago,  sir," 
uttered  in  a  quick  puffy  manner,  or  the  deep  low  tones  of  her 
master's  voice,  flowing  forth  in  their  accustomed  melody,  but 
so  attuned  to  the  place  in  which  he  was  speaking,  that  she 
could  not  distinguish  a  sentence.  Her  eyes,  however,  were 
wide  enough  open,  and  her  mouth  too,  when  she  stood  hold- 


KATE    WESTON.  335 

ing  the  front  door  for  the  stranger's  departure.  She  stared 
first  at  the  slender  limbs  and  feet,  then  at  the  funny  little  ball 
of  a  body,  then  at  the  round  head  with  its  bobbings  and 
twistings,  until  they  were  all  fairly  out  of  sight. 

"  Good-night,  sir — I'll  do  it,  sir — you've  finished  the  busi- 
ness, sir — I  honor  you  for  it,  sir — never  mind  expense,  sir — 
bless  me,  I  ought  to  be  hanged,  sir;"  and  away  went  the  little 
head,  body,  legs  and  all  as  fast  as  they  could  paddle. 

Biddy  rubbed  her  eyes,  and  looked  with  some  terror  at  her 
master,  at  this  alarming  acknowledgment,  but  as  he  only  turned 
away  with  his  "Usual  benevolent  smile  a  little  heightened  per- 
haps, she  contented  herself  with  marching  off  to  bed,  mutter- 
ing to. herself,  "Shure  an'  what's  the  use  o'  such  folks  bein' 
afther  kaping  dacent  people  up  out  o'  their  beds  the  whole 
blissed  night  intirely." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Pufton  was  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  He  swallowed  one  cup  of  coffee,  but  left  the 
juicy  steak  and  light  roll  untasted,  and  hurried  off  to  his 
place  of  business.  There  was  an  elasticity  in  his  motions, 
and  a  steady  light  radiating  over  all  the  rosy  face,  that  told 
of  something  uncommon  in  Mr.  Pufton's  life.  He  reached 
the  store  in  advance  of  the  porter,  and  expended  all  his 
stock  of  patience  in  perambulating  the  sidewalk  before  that 
personage  made  his  appearance. 

As  soon  as  they  were  inside,  he  locked  the  door,  and  turned 
with  a  confidential  half-whisper  to  his  porter,  "Patrick !  do  you 
think  you  could  dig  a  drain  from  this  window  to  that  sewer 
in  the  yard  ?" 

The  man  gaped  in  astonishment.  "  Yes  sir,  I  suppose  so," 
he  answered  with  a  perplexed  air. 

"  Well,  do  it  Pat,  and  here's  two  shillings  if  you  finish  it  in 
an  hour." 

Patrick  took  a  spade  and  commenced  work  outside,  while 
Mr.  Pufton  mounted  the  high  stool  at  his  desk,  and  watched 
operations.  He  tried  to  sit  as  still  as  possible,  but  various 


336  KATE    WESTON. 

nudgings  and  elbowings  showed  how  great  was  the  self-con- 
trol necessary.  At  last,  letting  himself  down,  he  flew  out, 
and  snatching  the  spade  from  Patrick's  hand,  exclaimed, 
"There,  sir,  just  get  another  spade,  I'm  going  to  work  myself 
to-day,  so  I  am,  sir." 

The  man  looked  puzzled  again,  but  went  off  after  another 
spade,  leaving  Mr.  Pufton  hard  at  work,  panting  and  puffing 
all  the  time,  and  finding  his  rotund  little  body  vastly  in  the 
way  of  his  novel  occupation.  "When  the  drain  was  completed, 
Patrick  stared  harder  than  ever,  for  his  master  pointed  to  a 
small  cask  of  his  very  finest  brandy,  saying,  "  Bfing  that  here, 
and  set  it  on  the  window ;  there  now,  knock  in  the  head." 

Patrick  looked  stupidly  at  the  beaming  face,  and  paused,  but 
the  ecstatic  twinkle  of  the  little  gray  eyes  convinced  him  th?t 
the  gentleman  was  in  earnest ;  so,  striking  a  severe  blow  upon 
the  head  of  the  cask,  he  watched  the  bright  stream  sparkling 
in  the  light,  with  a  rueful  gaze,  wondering  what  could  have 
caused  such  a  revolution  in  his  merry  little  master. 

When  that  cask  was  emptied,  another  was  brought,  and 
another,  Mr.  Pufton  assisting  to  lift  them  to  the  window, 
or  poising  them  upon  the  sill,  watching  with  that  same 
ecstatic  twinkle  the  streams  flow  fast  and  free,  without 
noticing  the  taciturn  porter's  dismay  as  the  business  pro- 
ceeded. As  the  little  gentleman  advanced  in  its  prosecution, 
he  became  more  excited,  seizing  and  emptying  wine  bottles, 
upsetting  demijohns,  breaking  decanters  outright,  and  holding 
unlimited  conversations  with  himself.  "  Pufton,  you've  been 
crazy  all  your  life,  so  you  have ;  this  might  have  been  done 
before.  I  see  it  all  now — bless  me,  so  I  do.  John,  hold  that 
demijohn  straight,  sir — I  see  it — straight  sir — can't  save  poor 
Ryker,  though,  too  late  now,  sir.  Patrick,"  with  vast  vehem- 
ence, "  I  charge  you — I  command  you,  sir  " 

'•  What,  sir  ?"  asked  poor  stupid  Patrick,  with  a  blanker  stare 
than  ever. 

"  Never  to  drink  a  drop,  sir.     I'm  convinced  now — at  last, 


KATE    WESTON.  337 

sir ;  it'll  ruin  you,  sir ;  Fll  never  drink  or  sell  a  drop  again. 
Heaven  help  me ,  never,  sir,  never !" 

Poor  Patrick  was  iaif-convinced  as  well  as  his  master 
by  such  energetic  words,  although  he  ventured  no  further 
answer. 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  the  work  of  des- 
truction was  completed.  Patrick  had  dispatched  his  two 
leviathan  slices  of  bread  and  butter  at  twelve  o'clock,  but  Mr. 
Pufton  could  not  eat ;  his  whole  frame  was  so  under  the  influ- 
ence of  his  exciting  occupation,  that  he  felt  neither  hunger 
nor  thirst,  heat  nor  cold.  When  the  last  cask  was  empty  he 
sent  Patrick  away,  settled  himself  down  in  his  great  easy- 
chair,  and  drained  a  goblet  of  water.  How  strange  it  seemed, 
swallowing  that  draught  of  water  in  the  place  of  his.  accus- 
tomed beverage.  There  was  a  longing  within,  that  water 
could  not  satisfy ;  but  Mr.  Pufton,  once  convinced,  was  firm 
as  the  Eddystone  Lighthouse.  The  deed  of  his  life  was  done ; 
he  had  thrown  up  a  thriving  business,  destroyed  many  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  stock,  laid  himself  open  to  the  animad- 
version of  all  his  brother  rum-sellers,  as  well  as  of  the 
fashionable  world  in  general ;  but  any  one  who  knew  him, 
would  as  soon  have  thought  of  seeing  the  rocks  of  Eddystone 
return  to  their  primitive  mountains,  as  the  new  principles  in 
the  breast  of  that  impulsive  little  gentleman  recede  before  the 
power  of  old  and  long-cherished  habits. 

The  most  violent  excitement  is  sure  to  bring  a  correspond- 
ing reaction ;  it  was,  consequently,  but  a  few  minutes  after 
Mr.  Pufton  had  seated  himself  before  he  was  in  a  sound  slum- 
ber. He  looked  comical  enough,  too,  sitting  there  so  cosily 
in  his  high-backed  chair  amid  the  broken  decanters  and 
empty  casks,  like  a  monarch  amid  the  ruins  of  his  kingdom. 
But  the  dimpled  smile  on  each  fat  cheek,  and  the  peculiar 
glow  of  satisfaction  that  lit  up  the  rosy  little  nose,  spoke 
of  anything  but  dissatisfaction  with  the  ruin  he  had 
15 


338  KATE    WESTON. 

wrought.  The  plump  hands  (pincushions,  Alice  called 
them),  were  folded  complacently  upon  the  round  stomach, 
and  the  feet  were  comfortably  stretched  upon  a  small  keg 
before  him. 

Slowly  the  twilight  gathered,  like  a  mist  rolling  in  at  the 
window  over  the  disordered  room ;  creeping  over  the  curious 
little  body  that  God  had  made  the  casket  of  a  noble  heart. 
The  hum  of  business  died  away  upon  the  crowded  streets; 
the  lamps  were  lit  outside,  and  the  twilight  grew  deeper  about 
Mr.  Pufton  in  his  lonely  slumbers. 

A  light  flickers  about  the  room ;  not  the  holy  twilight,  nor 
the  ray  of  the  rising  star,  but  a  lurid  glare,  like  the  blaze  of 
a  subterranean  fire.  Tiny  figures,  clothed  in  the  fearful  light, 
take  shapes  of  terror,  and  stand  out  in  the  darkness.  The  smile 
fades  from  the  sleeper's  face.  The  fiendish  forms  gather 
upon  the  broken  casks;  they  come  towards  him.  They 
light  upon  his  hands,  his  knees ;  they  cover  the  keg  that 
forms  his  footstool ;  they  cast  threatening  glances  towards 
him ;  they  scowl  frightfully  and  beat  upon  his  breast ;  their 
hot  breath  floats  into  his  very  nostrils:  their  eyes  come 
close  to  his;  their  bony  fingers  touch  his  cheeks.  Still  he 
has  no  power  to  stir.  Motionless  he  sits,  as  though  a  chain 
had  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  watching  the  terrible  figures, 
and  listening  to  their  shrieks. 

Suddenly  the  light  that  envelops  them  grows  fainter ; 
they  gnash  their  teeth,  but  slowly  recede.  A  sound  like  the 
rustling  of  angel  wings  falls  upon  his  ear.  Down  upon  the 
starbeams  float  two  figures,  clothed  in  a  light  purer  than  the 
twilight,  brighter  than  the  sunbeam.  In  at  the  window,  over 
the  broken  casks,  just  above  and  on  either  side  of  the 
sleeper.  From  the  extended  wings  fall  showers  of  light  that 
bathe  him  like  a  glorious  halo.  He  smiles  again.  The 
soul,  roused  from  its  long  error  by  the  silent  appeal  of  two 
marble  infant  faces,  knows  that  those  pure  spirits,  enfran- 


KATE   WESTON.  339 

chised  from  poverty,  pain,  and  sore  temptation,  have  come 
back  again  to  smile  upon  his  high  resolves.  The  fiends 
fall  back ;  they  cannot  enter  within  that  vail  of  purity.  A 
groan  like  the  wail  of  a  suffering  demon,  and  Millie  and 
Charlie,  glorious  in  angel  garb,  are  alone  with  the  slurn- 
berer. 


340  KATE    WESrON. 


CHAPTER   XXVH. 

MR.  PCFTON  was  awakened  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  bell 
of  the  Old  Brick  Church,  which  stood  but  a  short  distance 

r 

from  his  store.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  about  him. 
It  was  all  dark,  except  the  starlight  coming  in  at  the  window. 
He  groped  his  way  out  and  locked  the  door.  He  walked  up 
town  in  a  quieter  mood  than  he  had  ever  done  before.  The 
light  falling  from  those  angel  wings  had  shed  a  soothing  calm 
over  his  spirit.  He  felt  the  effects  of  that  blissful  dream, 
as  truly  as  though,  the  illusion  had  been  reality.  And  who 
dare  say  that  those  two  beautiful  spirits  came  not  down  upon 
the  star-beam  to  shed  blessings  on  his  head,  to  whom  their 
departure  from  earth  had  been  God's  way  of  bringing  truth 
home  to  the  erring  heart  ?" 

Edward  was  the  first  person  to  whom  the  important  deed 
accomplished  must  be  known.  So  away  went  Mr.  Pufton  to 
Judge  Ainslie's,  refreshing  himself  by  the  way  with  an  oyster 
stew,  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  As  he  entered  the  parlor,  Edward, 
Kate,  and  Mrs.  Maylie,  were  cosily  chatting  together  before 
the  fire.  He  shook  hands  vehemently  with  his  namesake  and 
Kate,  and  very  faintly  with  Mrs.  Maylie.  For  a  moment  her 
presence  restrained  him  from  uttering  the  exclamation  that 
was  on  his  lips,  but  before  he  was  fairly  seated,  out  it 
came. 

"  It's  done — Edward  Pufton  Clarence — all  over — finished 
up  entirely." 

They  all  looked  inquiringly  at  his  contented  face,  and 
Edward  asked,  "What  have  you  done,  sir?" 


KATE    WESTON.  341 

"I've  broken  up  my  establishment,  sir — knocked  in  the 
rum  casks,  sir — knocked  out  the  brandy  barrels,  sir,  knocked 
to  pieces  the  wine  bottles,  sir,  and  forsworn  all  meddling  with 
the  wretched  business  for  ever,  sir."  As  he  concluded,  he 
looked  a  little  fiercely  round  upon  the  company,  and  his  rosy 
face  grew  rosier  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Maylie's  sudden  start  and 
flush  at  his  announcement. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Pufton,"  exclaimed  Kate,  "  what  '  change  has 
come  o'er  the  spirit  of  your  dream,'  that  you've  done  such 
wonders  without  letting  us  know  a  word  about  it  ?  I  half 
believe  you  are  joking  now." 

"  No  joke,  I  assure  you,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pufton,  rubbing 
his  hands  delightedly  together.  "  Anything  but  a  joke, 
ma'am,"  he  continued,  addressing  Mrs.  Maylie ;  "  the  whole 
concern's  blown  up;  no  starting  it  again,  either ;  fact,  ma'am, 
I'm  speaking  Gospel  truth,  ma'am." 

The  lady  whom  he  was  particularly  addressing  was  sitting 
at  the  table,  with  her  head  reclining  upon  her  hand.  As 
Kate's  eyes  encountered  hers,  there  was  something  shining 
out  from  them,  that  drew  her  attention  from  the  more  ani- 
mated figure  of  the  dapper  little  gentleman  performing  all 
sorts  of  expressive  pantomimes  in  the  excess  of  his  delight. 
She  said  nothing,  but  her  heart  recognized  the  going  forth  of 
that  other  woman's  heart  to  the  being  for  whom  her  best 
life's  love  had  been  sealed  till  now.  The  little  gentleman, 
himself,  however,  didn't  see  anything  particular,  except  that 
Mrs.  Maylie  looked  very  much  pleased,  a  circumstance  of 
course,  which  tickled  him  exceedingly,  as  did  everything  that 
pleased  anybody,  more  particulary  that  lady  herself. 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  Edward,  "  you  are  affirm- 
ing impossibilities.  How  many  times  have  I  heard  you 
exhaust  every  argument  in  favor  of  your  business  to  induce 
Byng  to  enter  Mr.  Dunn's  establishment." 

"Facts,  sir,  are  stubborn  arguments,  sir.  No  thrusting 
aside  facts  sir.  Remember  Ryker,  my  boy,  poor  Ryker !" 


342  KATE    WESTON. 

and  Mr.  Pufton's  fat  hand  went  hastily  up  to  his  eyes,  and  as 
hastily  back  again. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  at  rest  on  that  point,"  said 
Edward,  "  since  the  widow's  reform." 

"  Reform,  sir — bless  your  heart,  sir,  that's  a  different  sort 
of  reform  from  what  I  bargained  for,  sir — bless  that  baby, 
sir !"  and  he  mopped  up  his  eyes  with  his  little  fat  fingers 
again. 

"  Come  now,"  said  Edward,  "  tell  us  what  has  happened ; 
you  only  aggravate  us  with  such  hints ;  we  are  all  anxious  to 
know." 

Mr.  Pufton  glanced  again  at  Mrs.  Maylie,  and  commenced  a 
history  of  the  last  two  days'  adventures,  related  in  a  charac- 
teristic manner,  broken  up  by  sobs  and  chuckles,  and  all 
sorts  of  interjections,  and  concluded  by  an  avowal  of  absti- 
nence from  the  sale  and  use  of  anything  of  the  sort  for  ever. 
"Fact  is,  Ned,  my  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  up,  and 
paddling  up  and  down  the  room,  with  a  very  indignant  coun- 
tenance, "  fact  is,  I  ought  to  have  been  hung  long  ago,  and 
then  this  wouldn't  have  happened  at  all.  No,  sir,  I've  been 
a  fool,  sir — all  my  life,  sir,  but  am  determined,"  here  he  strut- 
ted pompously  and  resolutely,  "  to  be  a  fool  no  longer." 

They  had  all  shed  tears  at  some  parts  of  his  relation,  but 
there  was  a  quiet  smile  more  within  than  upon  one  face,  in 
which  Kate  read  a  world  of  hidden  meaning,  and  when  Mrs, 
Maylie  rose  to  leave  the  room  she  understood  as  perfectly  the 
message  conveyed  to  her  in  that  single  glance,  as  though 
it  had  been  spoken  in  words. 

"  Good  evening  ma'am,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pufton,  bowing  reve- 
rently, as  though  to  a  stranger  of  high  rank ;  "  had  hoped  to 
enjoy  more  of  your  society  this  evening,  ma'am,  but " — 

For  one  instant  he  caught  a  strange  light  shooting  from  the 
eyes  that  had  been  his  load-stars  for  fourteen  years ;  his  face 
flashed,  and  his  voice  failed;  but  the  next  instant,  the  long 
eye-lashes  shaded  the  eyes  again,  and  with  a  graceful  cour- 


KATE    WESTON.  343 

lesy,  Mrs.  May  lie  disappeared.  For  a  few  moments  Mr.  Puf- 
lon  stood  still  just  where  she  had  left  him,  profoundly  con- 
templating- the  floor.  Edward  and  Kate  were  greatly  edified, 
but  looked  grave  enough  when  he  turned  round  with  a  half- 
guilty  look,  and  recommenced  his  self-denunciation. 

"  You  see  this,  sir,  I  was  old  enough  to  have  seen  things 
before,  sir,  there's  the  trouble,  sir,  don't  think  I'll  ever  get 
over  it,  sir,  those  two  little  angels  being  sent  out  of  the  world, 
sir,  and  in  such  a  manner,  sir." 

"  The  world  is  full  of  trouble  and  temptation,  sir,"  said 
Edward,  looking  with  a  half  sigh  into  the  fire. 

Kate  sighed  too,  as  she  watched  the  shadow  on  his  face, 
but  after  an  instant  she  said  softly,  "  Jesus  says,  *  Suffer  little 
children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such 
i§  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.' " 

The  round  face  brightened.  "Yes,  suppose  they're  bet- 
ter off — no  doubt  of  it — and,  God  help  me,  I'll  take  care  of 
the  one  that's  left — so  I  will ;"  then  turning  suddenly  round, 
he  exclaimed,  "  you  did  it  Edward,  you  know  you  did — remem- 
ber the  day  you  took  me  up  into  that  garret  ? — one  gone — the 
other  just  going — that  wretched  mother !  ugh  !  'twas  murder, 
murder  outright — and  this  one — the  fat  Dutchman,  too — that 
buys  some  thousand  gallons  a  year  of  me,  sir — bought,  sir — 
bought — he'll  never  buy  again — no  sir — NO  !" 

Having  finished  his  sentence  with  a  tremendous  emphasis, 
he  inserted  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  took  two  or  three 
more  warlike  marches  up  and  down  the  room. 

Edward  still  gazed  sadly  into  the  fire,  and  Kate,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  face,  felt  the  "  shadow  "  that  had  crept  and 
crept,  until  "  it  was  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  the  sunshine  " 
in  those  happy  hearts,  so  young,  hopeful,  and  loving.  She 
could  hardly  define  the  feeling,  but  it  was  there,  stirring  the 
gentle  heart,  and  looking  from  the  gentle  eyes ;  the  dread  of 
that  which  could  so  desolate  one  home,  humble  though  it 
were,  came  upon  her  spirit,  as  she  watched  the  face  so  manly, 


344  KATE    WESTON. 

so  beautiful,  so  full  of  the  varied  expression  of  a  generous, 
unchanging  heart. 

Presently  she  thought  of  Mrs.  Maylie,  and  suddenly  rising 
she  said  carelessly,  "  I'll  be  back  directly,"  and  flew  up  to  that 
lady's  room.  The  door  was  locked,  but  she  called  softly,  and 
Mrs.  Maylie  opened  it.  She  was  enveloped  in  a  capacious 
wrapper;  her  curls,  which  Kate  had  always  seen  carefully 
looped  with  the  back  hair,  hung,  in  luxuriant  carelessness 
about  her  face.  Kate  could  not  help  noticing  that  they  were 
rather  more  carefully  arranged  than  her  dishabille  would 
have  indicated,  nor  thinking  that  the  flushed  cheek  and 
sparkling  eye  were  more  the  index  of  what  merry  Sophie 
Ainslie  might  have  been  than  what  the  stately  Mrs.  Maylie 
was.  She  knew  her  companion  too  well,  however,  to  allude 
to  anything  of  the  sort ;  she  merely  said,  toying  with  a  little 
china  basket  on  the  table, 

"  Edward  and  I  are  going  out  for  an  hour  or  two ;  I  pro- 
mised him  that  I  would  step  into  the  Academy  of  Design 
to-night ;  you  had  better  come  down  and  entertain  Mr.  Puf- 
ton.  Clarence,  you  know,  is  asleep  poor  boy,  after  his  last 
night's  wakefulness,  and  my  favorite  will  be  fidgety,  I'm 
sure,  if  he's  left  alone."  There  was  the  slightest- mischief  in 
the  world  in  Kate's  tone  and  eye,  but  Mrs.  Maylie  saw  it,  and 
her  cheek  flushed  deeper  than  ever. 

"  I  will  come  down  after  you  are  gone ;  but,"  she  added, 
hesitatingly,  "  don't  tell  Mr.  Pufton  so." 

Kate  smiled  as  she  answered,  "  No,  certainly,  if  you  do  not 
wish  it ;  we  shall  probably  be  out  for  a  couple  of  hours ; 
Edward  is  so  fond  of  painting  that  he  never  can  be  per- 
suaded to  leave  until  the  last  minute.  Is  your  patience  equal 
to  the  task  ?" 

Mrs.  Maylie  didn't  raise  her  eyes  as  she  replied  with  appa- 
rent indifference,  "I  think  so,  my  dear;  if  my  patience 
becomes  exhausted,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  leaving  him  to 
entertain  himself." 


KATE    WESTON.  345 

"  Come  Edward,"  exclaimed  Kate,  as  she  entered  the  par- 
lor, equipped  for  her  walk,  "  we  were  going  out  this  evening ; 
Mr.  Pufton,  you  know  we  would  be  delighted  with  your  com- 
pany, but  I  have  been  writing  a  letter  home,  and  I  want  you 
to  write  a  page  or  two,  just  to  bear  testimony  to  our  good 
behavior." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear ;  write  to  your  mother,  my  dear, — 
noble  woman  that,  my  dear — don't  believe  any  testimony  is 
needed  though, — she  knows  that,  my  dear — daughter's  a  chip 
of  the  old  block,  that  she  is,  my  dear — beg  pardon,  my  dear, 
for  using  a  vulgar  expression,  my  dear — most  appropriate 
though,  my  dear ;"  and  the  hearty  little  face  looked  oceans 
of  admiration  on  the  fair  being  through  whose  blue  eyes  so 
much  of  the  soul's  beauty  was  poured  upon  those  who  had  the 
purity  to  feel  and  appreciate  its  power. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Pufton  will  dance  when  he  reaches  home 
to-night,"  said  Kate,  as  soon  as  they  were  fairly  off  the 
steps. 

"  Why,  darling  ?"  answered  Edward ;  "  that  would  be  windr 
ing  up  in  comedy  fashion,  sure  enough ;  I  should  think  he 
would  feel  like  anything  but  dancing." 

"  Don't  say  a  word  about  it  now,  if  I  tell  you  a  story,  will 
you  ?  It's  no  use  asking  you  that,  though,  because  I  know 
you  will  tell  the  first  chance  you  find.  But  you'll  use  every 
effort  to  keep  it  to  yourself  until  we  reach  home  again,  won't 
you,  dear?" 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  promise  to  satisfy  you,  if  you 
think  me  such  a  tell-tale,"  said  Edward,  laughing. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Ainslie  told  me  one  day  the  whole  history  of 
Mrs.  Maylie's  marriage.  When  she  was  only  sixteen,  she  saw 
Mr.  Pufton  at  a  party  which  had  been  given  by  the  young 
ladies-  of  the  boarding  school  with  which  she  was  associated. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening  they  entertained  the  company 
with  some  tableaux,  in  which  Mrs.  Maylie  represented  Night. 
She  wore  a  heavy  black  robe  and  vail,  spangled  all  over  with 

15* 


346  KATE    WESTOX. 

stars,  and  on  her  forehead,  above  a  magnificent  coiffure  of 
natural  curls,  rested  a  new  moon,  all  setting  off  to  the  best 
advantage,  her  peculiar  style  of  beauty.  After  the  tableaux 
were  over,  the  young  ladies  mingled  with  the  guests  without 
doffing  their  fanciful  costume. 

"  It  was  in  that  tableau  that  Mr.  Pufton  first  saw  her ;  and 
that  very  evening  an  acquaintance  budded  which  afterwards 
•  ripened  into  a  real  affection." 

Edward  laughed ;  "  Mr.  Pufton  wasn't  so  fat  and  rosy  then 
as  he  is  now,  Kate.  But  I'm  sure  I  can't  remember  the  time 
when  he  wasn't  as  peculiar." 

"  Oh  well,  I  suppose  everybody  that  ever  knew  him  loved 
him  a  great  deal  better  for  it ;  it's  the  peculiarity  of  a  heart 
so  full  of  goodnature,  that  it  boils  over  on  all  sides,  making 
the  greatest  sputtering  that — but  there,  I'm  getting  away  from 
my  story.  Sophie  Ainslie  had  engaged  herself  to  Mr.  Puf- 
ton before  her  father  knew  a  word  about  it.  He  had  some- 
how formed  a  prejudice  against  the  eccentric  young  man, 
and  being  a  very  stubborn  man,  he  prevented  the  marriage. 
Sophie  was  quite  unhappy  for  a  while,  but,  as  the  disappointed 
suitor  had  striven  to  forget  her  by  leaving  the  country,  the 
wound  was  partially  healed  at  last,  and  two  years  after 
she  was  induced  to  marry  a  wealthy  widower  with  one 
child." 

"  None  of  that  seems  at  all  like  her !"  exclaimed  Edward. 
"I  should  have  thought  she  would  have  persisted  in  never 
marrying  any  one  else  but  Mr.  Pufton,  at  any  rate.  Her 
sense  of  duty  would  be  too  great  for  her  to  marry  against  her 
father's  wish,  but  she  is  the  very  last  person  I  should  have 
thought  capable  of  yielding  her  hand  where  her  heart  was 
wanting." 

"  Sophia  Ainslie,"  answered  Kate,  "  was  not  at  all  like  Mrs. 
Maylie.  Mrs.  Ainslie  told  me  all  about  it.  She  said  that  the 
change  in  her  character  is  actually  remarkable.  Sophie 
Ainslie  was  a  warm-hearted,  affectionate  girl,  and  having  lost 


KATE   WESTON.  347 

her  mother  when  she  was  quite  young,  all  her  respect  and 
love  were  given  to  her  father.  He  really  made  her  believe 
that  she  loved  Mr.  Maylie,  so,  although  she  sighed  at  the 
mention  of  Edward  Pufton's  name,  she  became  the  wife  of 
another.  For  two  years  she  lived  with  her  father,  and  she, 
simple-hearted  girl,  didn't  see  but  what  she  was  about  as  well 
off  as  ever.  She  walked,  talked,  read  with  her  father,  just  as 
she  always  had ;  Mr.  Maylie  was  away  all  day,  and  often  all 
night,  on  business,  and  little  Sophronia  was  in  charge  of  Miss 
Maylie,  an  elderly  sister  of  her  husband's. 

"  But  when  her  father  died,  then  her  trials  commenced. 
Oh,  Edward,  how  dreadful  it  must  be  to  wed  an  uncongenial 
spirit !  there  is  " — 

"  And  how  delightful  to  wed  a  congenial  one  !"  exclaimed 
her  companion,  pressing  her  arm  closer  to  his  side. 

"  Never  mind,  don't  interrupt  me,  sir,"  said  Kate.  "  You 
can  imagine  what  Mr.  Maylie  was,  when  I  tell  you  that 
Sophronia  is  almost  his  fac-siinile  in  character,  except  that  he 
was  more  stern  and  precise,  as  a  man  must  be,  than  his 
daughter.  What  sort  of  sympathy  could  there  be  now, 
between  such  a  man,  and  a  frank,  warm-hearted  girl,  whose 
soul  poured  out  every  sorrow  and  joy  the  instant  she  was  con- 
scieus  of  its  existence.  As  soon  as  her  father  was  gone, 
hefj  heart  yearned  for  sympathy  and  companionship ;  she 
turned  now  to  her  husband  ;  but  he  treated  all  her  outgush- 
ings  of  tears,  smiles,  and  gentle  words  of  love  as  the  caprices 
of  a  child,  soothing  her,  not  by  gentle  reasoning,  and  an  inter- 
change of  sympathy,  but  exactly,  Mrs.  Ainslie  says, '  as  one 
would  manage  a  spoilt  child.'  If  she  expressed  a  wish  for 
anything,  however  important,  or  however  trifling,  he  was  sure 
to  get  it  for  her.  But  he  would  smile  suspiciously  at  her 
pretty  fancies ;  and  when  she  had  been  pouring  out  tearful 
yearnings  for  a  love  such  as  her  father  had  rendered  her,  he 
would  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  stoop  to  kiss  her, 
saying, '  Oh,  my  dear,  you  cannot  always  be  a  child ;  throw  off 


348  KATE    WESTON. 

that  childishness  now,  I  admire  dignity  in  a  woman,  and  it 
would  so  become  you.' 

"  So  the  young  wife  crowded  back  her  love,  and  smiles,  and 
tears,  praying  and  weeping  only  when  alone.  In  time  she 
became  the  dignified,  stately  lady  that  we  have  known  But 
Mrs.  Ainslie  says  the  old  love  and  buoyancy  is  yet  in  her 
heart,  and  that  she  doesn't  think  it  at  all  impossible  that 
it  should  break  away  that  hard  crust  of  reserve  which  has 
been  so  long  in  forming." 

"  Why,  Kate,  her  history  is  a  perfect  little  romance,  only 
wanting  her  union  with  Mr.  Pufton  to  complete  the  tale. 
But  Mr.  Pufton  would  make  a  funny  hero  of  romance, 
wouldn't  he  ?" 

"  Wait,  wait,"  said  Kate  emphatically,  "  you'll  see  what  sort 
of  a  hero  he  makes  by  and  by.  I  saw  the  crust  breaking  to- 
night. Dear  Mrs.  Maylie  !  I  always  loved  her ;  I  saw  the 
love  down  .at  the  core  of  her  heart,  at  any  rate,  and  felt  it  too, 
long  ago."  She  has  shown  her  affection  for  Mr.  Pufton  a  hun- 
dred times  by  a  glance  or  tone ;  I've  seen  it." 

"  Oh,  Kate,  you're  so  observing ;  why  in  the  world  wouldn't 
she  marry  him  then ;  I'm  sure  he's  been  utterly  devoted  to 
her  for  his  whole  life." 

"  You'll  see, — you'll  see  why  before  long ;  If  Mr.  Pufton 
doesn't  dance  the  Virginia  reel  when  he  reaches  home  to- 
night, I'll  be  a  false  prophet  forevermore.  But  here  we  are  ; 
why,  I  had  actually  forgotten  where  we  were  going." 

What  had  been  going  on  at  home  all  this  time  in  that 
pleasant  parlor  where  a  noble  little  gentleman  had  seated 
himself  to  write,  and  in  the  boudoir  above  where  a  beautiful 
woman  was  struggling  with  a  newly-startled  heart  that 
throbbed  and  quivered  as  it  had  done  seventeen  years  ago  in 
the  cherished  home  of  her  childhood's  love  ? 

Kate  had  no  sooner  left  the  room  than  Mrs.  Maylie  again 
locked  the  door,  and  dropping  the  loose  wrapper  from  her 
shoulders  revealed  a  robe  of  black,  thickly  studded  with 


KATE    WESTOX.  349 

golden  stars.  Uncovering  a  box  that  stood  upon  the  chair, 
she  took  from  it  a  crescent,  and  stepping  to  the  glass,  adjusted 
it  carefully  above  her  curls ;  then,  fastening  within  it  a  long, 
black  vail,  also  dotted  with  stars,  she  stood  for  a  moment  before 
the  glass.  One  instant  her  lip  quivered,  and  she  leaned  against 
the  table  for  support,  pressing  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  as 
though  to  hold  back  the  wild  gush  of  feeling  that  could  not 
be  controlled. 

The  fragile  girl  of  sixteen  was  far  less  lovely  in  the  dress, 
that,  although  carefully  preserved,  had  dimmed  the  lustre  of 
its  gold,  than  the  stately  creature  who  stood  there  in  the  per- 
fect symmetry  of  womanhood.  The  crescent  above  her  fore- 
head, the  flowing  vail  and  robes  sending  back  in  a  thousand 
places  the  lustre  of  the  radiant  lights,  the  dark  curls,  all  served 
to  set  off  perfectly  the  pure  complexion  and  perfect  contour 
of  the  face.  But  the  beauty  of  feature  was  nothing  to  the 
mellow  radiance  that  beamed  from  the  lustrous  eyes,  and  over 
the  flushed  cheeks.  There  was  something  too,  in  the  figure, 
less  majestic,  but  infinitely  more  charming.  The  head  was 
erect,  the  foot  firm  as  usual,  but  there  was  a  something,  like  a 
shadow  of  light  that  made  her  seem  more  like  the  tender, 
loving  child  of  earlier  days,  than  the  unapproachable  woman 
of  maturer  life. 

Mr.  Pufton  had  seated  himself  at  the  centre-table  with 
Kate's  writing  desk.  Taking  out  a  sheet  of  paper  and  pen, 
after  essaying  several  times  to  sit  down  composedly  before  it 
he  at  last  succeeded  in  settling  himself  abstractedly  to  the 
task.  Now  came  a  new  difficulty ;  there  was  only  a  small 
quantity  of  ink  in  the  stand,  and  every  insertion  of  the  pen 
only  brought  out  a  blot  upon  his  paper.  After  various  excla- 
mations of  astonishment  at  the  unaccomodating  ink-stand,  he 
at  last  succeeded  entirely  to  his  satisfaction,  by  poising  one 
edge  upon  a  small  book,  and  commencing  operations  in 
earnest.  He  went  on  writing  a  full  half  page  without  stirring 
from  his  position.  A  side  door  softly  opened,  and  the  God- 


350  KATE    WESTON. 

dess  of  Night  glided  up  to  the  mantel.  But  the  writer  was 
intent  upon  his  sheet.  For  several  minutes  his  head  bent  over 
the  desk,  and  his  pen  flew  along  the  page.  The  clock  on  the 
mantel  struck.  He  looked  towards  it; — there  stood  the 
vision  that  had  haunted  all  the  life  of  love  within,  since  first 
he  came  to  man's  estate.  There  stood  the  Sophie  of  his 
early  love,  one  hand  shading  her  eyes,  as  like  to  the  moveless 
statue  he  had  first  seen  her  as  the  dream  he  had  so  often  con- 
jured through  the  years  of  hopeless  love.  For  an  instant  he 
seemed  petrified.  Then  suddenly  giving  the  desk  a  little  jerk 
that  sent  the  ink  soaking  through  velvet  cover,  embossed 
paper,  envelopes  and  all,  he  jumped  up,  and  flew  towards  her, 
with  such  a  hope-light  beaming  from  the  round,  bright  eyes, 
as  made  the  jocund  face,  rosy  nose  and  all,  actually  beautiful. 
Suddenly  he  paused ; — the  figure  did  not  move ; — the  color 
of  the  cheek  deepened,  but  the  eyes  were  still  shaded  with 
the  hand ; — he  spoke  softly,  as  though  afraid  the  vision  would 
vanish  at  his  voice ; — "  Mrs.  Maylie — Sophie — Madam — par- 
don"— 

The  hand  dropped; — eyes,  filled  with  tears,  and  further 
back,  shining  through  their  crystal  vail,  with  woman's  quench- 
less love,  looked  into  his  face.  He  started  forward,  catch- 
ing both  her  hands  in  his.  "Mine  at  last,  Sophie? — God 
bless  you,  Sophie — Time  has  gone  back,  Sophie — Sophie 
Ainslie !" 

Not  Youth,  nor  outward  Beauty  winneth  woman's  love ;  but 
youth  of  heart,  and  the  inner  beauty  that  maketh  of  the  sin- 
ful human  breast  a  shrine  where  dwelleth  Faith — Hope — 
Charity. 

Didrit  Mr.  Pufton  dance  when  he  reached  home  that 
night  ?  Didn't  he  wheel  in  all  sorts  of  unimagined  pirouettes 
up  and  down-  the  floor  of  his  solitary  chamber  ?  Didn't  he  tip 
over  the  pitcher  upon  the  velvet  carpet,  and  knock  down  all 
the  chairs  that  happened  to  be  in  his  way  ?  Didn't  he  put  on 
"his  flannel  night-cap  wrong-side  before,  and  get  into  bed  with 


KATE    WESTON.  351 

his  boots  on  ?  Didn't  he  have  dreams  of  goddesses  in  starry 
robes,  and  eyes  that  seemed  like  suns  rising  out  of  the  dark- 
ness ?  Didn't  he  see  little  winged  cherubs  and  empty  brandy 
casks,  and  a  fat  little  gentleman  in  an  easy-chair  sailing  bliss- 
fully through  the  air  together  ?  Didn't  he  work  harder  and 
feel  happier  in  his  dreams  than  he  had  all  day,  and  wake  up 
in  the  morning,  feeling  equal,  if  necessary,  to  do  battle  with 
the  world  for  the  remainder  of  his  mortal  life  ? 

When  Kate  returned,  she  smiled  through  her  chagrin,  at 
finding  the  half-finished  letter  on  her  ruined  desk,  and  said 
laughingly  to  Edward,  "  Here  is  a  proof  that  my  prediction 
will  be  fulfilled,  at  any  rate,  but  it  is  rather  hard  that  /  must 
pay  a  penalty  for  its  fulfillment." 

The  next  day,  however,  Kate  felt  herself  amply  repaid  for 
the  destruction  of  her  desk,  by  receiving  one  of  five  times  its 
value,  inlaid  with  gold,  and  supplied  with  perquisites  of  the 
finest  quality.  Another  proof,  she  thought,  that  my  predic- 
tion was  fulfilled.  She  carried  it  up  to  Mrs.  Maylie  for  her 
admiration.  Somehow  that  lady  seemed  more  approachable 
than  usual,  for  Kate  said  archly  as  she  kissed  her  cheek,  "  I 
wonder  if  Mr.  Pufton  deserves  all  my  thanks  for  this  beautiful 
gift?" 

Mrs.  Maylie  blushed,  but  there  was  not  the  slightest  dis- 
pleasure in  her  voice,  as  she  answered  softly,  "  Nous  verrons? 


352  .KATE    WESTON. 


THREE  years  vanished  in  the  mists  of  past  Eternity.  New 
graves  were  scattered  in  the  church-yard.  New  altars  had 
been  erected  to  earthly  love.  New  flowers  of  immortality 
had  blossomed  in  many  homes.  New  thorns  had  torn  the 
feet  of  weary  pilgrims  in  a  world  of  suffering  and  toil.  New 
temptations  had  loomed  up  in  the  way  of  the  unwary.  New 
tears  had  been  wept  above  the  early  dead,  and  souls  had 
gone  to  be  tried  at  a  new  tribunal  for  the  deeds  done  in  the 
body. 

Change  is  floating  ever  in  the  wake  of  Time.  The  hoary 
spectre  presses  on,  unceasing  in  his  flight,  and  Change,  vigor- 
ous in  unending  youth,  scatters  from  one  hand  life,  beauty, 
blessing — from  the  other,  suffering,  decay,  and  death. 

There  was  one  vacant  chair  in  the  Westons'  home.  A 
widow  struggled  hard  to  bow  to  His  decree  who  had  taken  to 
Himself  the  noble  heart  he  had  lent  to  cheer  the  path  a 
Christian  treads  to  Heaven.  A  daughter,  beautiful  in  the 
flush  of  womanhood,  had  taken  her  first  great  lesson  in  the 
school  of  trial  through  which  has  passed  every  saint  of  those 
around  the  throne  "  who  have  come  out  of  great  tribulation, 
and  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb." 

Other  trials,  too,  had  left  their  impress  on  the  gentle  brow, 
and  purified  the  inner  soul.  The  warm  love  of  woman's 
heart  springing  up  in  infancy,  growing  with  her  growth,  and 
strengthening  with  her  strength,  mourned  over  one  foot  that 
many  a  time  ere  this  had  erred  from  the  path  of  rectitude. 


KATE    WESTON.  353 

Alas  for  Edward !  Temptation  was  too  powerful  for  one  so 
flattered  and  caressed  in  early  youth.  He  had  been  sent  to 
the  State  Legislature  at  twenty-four,  and  now  at  twenty-six 
he  was  talked  of  as  a  candidate  for  the  State  Senate.  Society 
had  laid  out  all  its  charms  for  the  beautiful  and  talented 
youth  so  keenly  susceptible  to  its  influence.  The  class  of 
society,  too,  in  which  he  had  mingled,  was  different  from 
that  of  his  earlier  years.  Piety  and  intelligence  were  the 
passports  to  his  father's  home,  and  in  their  atmosphere  the 
frank  ardent  youth  had  breathed  the  pure  air  of  holiness  and 
truth. 

But  the  giddy  world,  with  a  new  standard  of  worth,  new 
motives  for  labor,  new  rewards  for  success,  had  been  drawing 
him  slowly  into  the  whirlpool  of  its  pleasures.  Not  that  he 
disbelieved  the  heavenly  lessons  of  his  earlier  years,  but  he 
had  forgotten  them,  or  when  recalled  by  an  anxious  father's 
pleadings,  or  by  Kate's  loving  words,  he  thought  of  them  as 
the  mariner  who  loves  the  swelling  billow,  thinks  of  the  quiet 
land,  with  a  half-pity  in  his  heart  for  those  who  so  peacefully 
repcse  upon  its  breast. 

Yes,  Edward  loved  the  "  great  wild  billow "  on  which  his 
bark  was  tossed.  He  enjoyed  the  eager  battle  for  precedence, 
the  glory  of  victory,  the  whirl  of  worldly  pleasure.  Was  it 
strange  then,  that  Kate,  yet  robed  in  mourning  for  her  father, 
should  bear  always  in  her  heart  that  last  broken  murmur  of 
a  father's  voice,  "  Love  not  the  world,  neither  the  things  that 
are  in  the  world,"  or  that  her  eyes  should  often  dim  with 
tears,  that  for  him  in  whom  her  whole  heart's  hopes  were 
centered,  she  must  weep  and  pray  alone  ? 

The  period  first  designated  by  the  young  physician  for  their 
union  was  occupied  in  smoothing  the  way  of  a  suffering 
parent  to  the  grave.  When  winter  came,  and  Edward  was 
so  immersed  in  the  pursuit  of  Fame,  then  first  Kate's  heart 
began  to  feel  truly  startled  for  his  safety.  She  knew  that 
perils  are  strewn  all  along  the  way  of  the  ambitious,  unknown 


354  KATE    WESTON. 

to  those  who  walk  meekly  "  all  their  appointed  time,  till  their 
change  come."  But  she  had  not  been  aware  of  the  peculiar 
fascinations  such  a  life' would  bear  to  the  object  of  her  love. 

She  saw  him  almost  worshiped  by  many  of  his  admirers. 
She  saw  him  intoxicated  with  the  excitement  of  constant 
activity  in  an  occupation  that  had  always  been  his  chief 
delight.  She  saw  him  yielding  often  to  the  power  of  wine, 
and  conscience  told  her  as  she  softly  said,  "  Lead  us  not  into 
temptation,"  that  if  she  were  to  enter  the  world  of  his  plea- 
sures, she  would  no  longer  have  a  right  thus  to  pray,  when 
she  had  cast  herself,  and  was  encouraging  him  in  the  midst 
of  temptations  whence  few  come  forth  unscathed. 

Mr.  Pufton  was  not  much  altered,  except  that  his  face  was 
a  little  less  rosy,  and  his  manner,  perhaps,  a  little  less  abrupt 
than  in  the  days  of  his  bachelor-life.  Mrs.  Pufton  had  taken 
back  much  of  the  frank  buoyancy  of  her  early  youth,  so  that 
her  dignity  served  to  render  more  winning  the  gentle  frank- 
ness of  her  heart.  Judge  Ainslie's  family  bad  passed  through 
no  very  important  changes,  except  that  a  rosy-cheeked  boy 
sometimes  asserted  his  supremacy  at  the  table  by  appealing 
from  Alice  to  "  Ganma  "  for  anything  to  which  he  happened 
to  take  a-  fancy.  Little  Ned  was  a  vast  favorite  too,  with 
poor  blind  Clarence,  who  carried  him  about  on  one  arm, 
indulging  every  whim,  and  listening  to  every  murmur.  Poor 
Clarence !  to  his  little  nephew  alone  was  his  voice  always 
gentle  now,  for  sickness  and  intemperance  had  so  grown  upon 
him,  that  each  had  made  vast  inroads  on  both  mental  and 
physical  faculties.  It  was  a  piercing  thorn  within  a  mother's 
heart,  the  result  of  that  son's  blindness.  Her  cheek  grew 
pale  and  wan,  her  eye  sunken,  but  when  the  wound  was  sorest, 
she  remembered  that  "  there  is  balm  in  Gilead  and  a  physi- 
cian there."  Often  when  sleep  was  brooding  on  the  eyelids 
of  every  other  member  of  her  household,  did  that  mother 
kneel  at  the  bedside  of  her  inebriate  son,  and  pour  such  pray- 
ers as  only  mothers  can. 


KATE   WESTON.  355 

But  the  night  was  long  and  dreary.  No  light  to  the  dark- 
ened eyes  or  heart.  All  night,  in  which  the  tempest  of  fierce 
passion  howled,  and  moon  and  stars  refused  their  light. 
Should  there  be  no  morning?  Often  through  that  fearful 
night  of  years,  went  up  the  cry  of  anguish  from  the  unwearied 
love  of  a  mother's  breast.  "  How  long,  0  Lord,  how 
long  ?" 

Sometimes  the  soul  rebelled.  She  could  but  remember 
that  of  all  the  children  given  her  of  God,  Clarence  was  the 
gentlest,  most  loving,  and  most  appreciative  of  her  own  affec- 
tion. She  could  but  think,  as  the  figure  matured  to  manhood, 
of  what  he  would  have  been  without  disease  or  its  terrible 
results.  It  was  to  him  that  her  eye  had  looked  for  the  chief 
solace  of  later  years ;  but  now,  he  was  adding  cares  many  and 
hard  to  bear,  to  those  already  laid  on  her  by  an  all-wise  God. 
But,  pressing  back  these  murmuring  thoughts,  she  kept  her 
eye  fixed  on  one  great  object — the  final  salvation  of  her  erring 
son ;  and  to  this  her  best  energies  were  ever  directed.  She 
strove  to  remember  that  "  weeping  endureth  for  the  night,  but 
joy  cometh  in  the  morning ;"  and  she  would  not  believe  that 
no  morning  should  dawn  upon  her  sightless  boy. 

Mary  had  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Steele,  whose  growing 
reputation  had  won  for  him  an  honorable  place  in  Laconia. 
Maggie,  faithful  and  patient  as  ever,  had  taken  charge  of  the 
district  school,  showing  forth  in  the  monotonous  course  of 
daily  life,  the  power  of  that  grace  which  was  able  to  keep 
her  even  unto  the  end,  and  remaining,  ever  since  that  first 
earnest  endeavor  to  lead  a  soul  to  Jesus,  a  faithful  co-laborer 
with  the  young  clergyman  and  his  unselfish  wife. 

******* 

On  a  warm  afternoon  during  the  Indian  summer,  Edward 
was  walking  from  his  office  towards  Mrs.  Weston's.  That 
misty  haze  peculiar  to  the  season,  had  cast  over  the  land- 
scape its  softening  charm;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
young  man's  eye  that  gave  not  back  an  answering  glance  to 


356  KATE   WESTON. 

the  calm  gaze  of  nature  looking  down  reproachfully  upon 
erring  human  life. 

The  full,  dark,  eye  was  not  a  whit  less  fascinating,  nor  the 
fine  profile  less  classic  than  in  his  boyish  days.  The  thick 
curls,  defying  all  attempts  of  the  barber's  skill,  curled  as  be- 
witchingly  as  ever.  But  a  look  of  weariness  and  anxiety  was 
settled  on  his  brow  that  spoke  of  riper  manhood.  Ivor  was 
that  all.  A  flush  lay  on  either  cheek  that  seemed  hardly 
natural,  although  adding  to  the  brilliant  beauty  of  the  intel- 
lectual face.  As  he  strolled  thoughtfully  along,  a  shadow 
ever  and  anon  flitted  over  his  brow, 

"  Like  that  by  a  cloud  in  a  summer's  day  made, 
Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover.'' 

Memories,  hopes  and  fears  were  thrilling  within  his  bosom 
with  strange,  almost  painful  power.  He  had  listened  to  words 
of  adulation,  he  had  made  hearts  throb,  and  pulses  quicken, 
even  in  the  halls  where  statesmen  were  gathered  to  pencil  out 
their  country's  destiny.  He  had  taken  part  in  the  gay  revel, 
where  bright  eyes  grew  brighter,  rosy  cheeks  rosier  at  his 
coming.  Yet  he  felt,  down  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  that  one 
deep  changeless  love  was  more  than  all  these  to  his  spirit. 
Why  not  thrust  them  from  thee  then,  young,  noble  heart,  and 
take  nestling  to  thy  breast  the  dove  whose  meek  eyes  should 
charm  away  the  demon  of  unrest  that  already  tortures  thee 
with  unceasing  murmurs. 

God  help  the  child  of  Fame !  no  mortal  can. 

As  he  passed  up  between  the  fragrant  artemisias,  Mrs. 
Weston  came  down  stairs  and  advanced  to  the  open  door. 

"  Does  thee  prosper  to-day,  Edward  ?  come  in." 

"  So  so — a  little  headache,  that  is  all." 

The  old  lady's  calm  eyes  looked  anxiously  over  her  glasses 
at  his  face  ;  she  heaved  a  gentle  sigh.  "  If  I  may  be  so  bold 
Edward,  I'm  afraid  thee  is  getting  too  fond  of  late  hours. 
Thee  is  so  dear  to  me  that  I  must  tell  thee." 

Edward's  cheek  colored  with  a  deeper  flush.     "  It's  neces- 


KATE    WESTON.  357 

sary  just  now,  Mrs.  Western.  I  hope  some  day  to  be  able  to 
return  to  my  old  habits  again.  Where  is  Kate  ?" 

"  She  has  gone  down  to  the  grove  with  her  book ;  it  was 
so  pleasant  to-day  that  I  thought  it  would  do  her  good.  Theo 
can  go  right  down  there,  my  son." 

The  calm  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon  the  figure  of  the 
being  who,  to  that  tender  mother's  heart,  was  dearer  now 
than  any  living  soul  save  one.  Her  face  wore  an  expression 
of  anxious  thought  as  she  watched  him,  which  deepened  into 
intense  melancholy,  as  he  disappeared  among  the  trees. 
"  God  bless  the  boy,  for  He  has  given  him  too  broad  a  heritage 
for  his  own  managing,"  and  she  walked  slowly  into  the  lonely 
sitting-room. 

[t  was  Kate's  especial  delight  to  have  roses  blossoming  in 
autumn  when  the  wealth  of  summer  was  scattered.  The 
entrance  to  her  favorite  retreat  was  bordered  on  either  side  by 
a  number  of  monthly  rose  trees  in  full  blossom.  One,  how- 
ever, which  she  had  taken  special  care  to  cultivate,  this  year 
had  not  repaid  her  etTorts.  It  was  a  white  moss  rose, 
Edward's  favorite,  because,  he  said,  it  always  reminded  him  of 
her.  During  the  whole  summer  it  had  not  borne  a  single 
flower,  but  now  at  last,  one  bud  shot  up  its  slender  green,  and 
was  ripening  to  perfect  beauty.  They  had  both  watched  its 
gradual  opening  from  day  to  day,  and  each,  unknown  to  the 
other,  and  almost  unconsciously,  had  linked  its  fate  with  hers 
who  had  so  cherished  the  tree  through  years  of  prosperous 
growth. 

As  Edward  passed  it,  he  paused  for  a  moment.  A  spider 
had  strung  its  web  over  the  half-opened  petals,  and  across  the 
leaves  about  it.  He  carefully  removed  the  web,  but  as  he 
pulled  away  a  portion  that  clung  around  the  stem,  his  finger 
scratched  against  a  thorn,  and  the  beautiful  flower  broke 
short  off,  still,  however,  adhering  to  his  hand.  He  stood 
motionless  for  a  few  moments,  looking  ruefully  at  the  broken 
flower,  now  stained  with  the  blood  that  oozed  copiously  from 


358  KATE    WESTON. 

the  wound.  Then  carefully  extricating  the  thorn,  he  opened 
his  bosom,  and  with  an  air  of  tenderness,  as  though  the  inno- 
cent little  bud  were  a  living,  feeling  creature,  he  laid  it  next 
his  heart.  As  he  turned  again  towards  the  grove,  there, 
between  the  trees,  at  the  water's  edge,  stood  Kate,  watching 
his  movements,  her  cheeks  blanched,  her  lips  apart,  and  her 
eyes  full  of  something  half  between  love  and  fear.  He  stopped 
for  a  moment  as  though  she  had  spoken  a  reproach,  then  hur- 
ried towards  her  with  the  very  same  glance  of  tenderness  with 
which  lie  had  regarded  the  broken  flower. 

As  they  stood  for  one  instant  there,  they  would  have 
seemed,  to  one  who  could  not  read  the  heart,  true  types  of 
true  man  and  true  woman.  He,  with  the  tall  figure,  lofty 
carriage,  eagle  eye,  and  intellectual  face ;  she  with  woman's 
and  a  Christian's  heart,  stamped  on  the  slender  figure,  and  on 
every  feature  of  the  fair,  pure  face,  gazing  on  each  other  with 
a  sort  of  tender  terror  that  pierced  to  either  soul. 

Before  Edward  reached  her,  she  had  sunk  down  upon  the 
grass,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  was  weeping  bit- 
terly. A  chill  struck  to  his  heart;  he  laid  his  arm  about  her, 
and  strove  to  raise  her  from  the  ground.  But  the  tears  flowed 
faster,  the  sobs  burst  forth  with  keener  anguish  in  their  moan. 
He  looked  alarmed.  "  Kate,  dearest,  why  do  you  weep  so  ?" 
and  he  fairly  lifted  her  unresisting  figure  and  led  her  to  the 
same  little  rustic  bench  from  which  they  had  first  gazed  into 
the  limpid  stream,  that  gave  back  two  faces  in  one  sweet  pic- 
ture, the  unchangeable  emblem  of  their  future  destiny. 

Kate  was  a  true  Christian,  but  suffering  had  not  yet  per- 
fected the  rebellious  human  heart,  and  this  time  she  could  not 
submit  to  conscience  without  a  struggle.  The  very  tender- 
ness of  Edward's  voice  as  he  strove  to  soothe  her  caused  but  a 
keener  pang,  and  rendered  it  more  difficult  for  judgment  and 
duty  to  triumph  over  affection,  as  she  had  resolved  they 
should  when  she  next  met  him. 

"  Edward,  leave  me  for  ten  minutes,  and  I  shall  be  able  to 


KATE    WESTON.  359 

tell  you — nay,  you  must  leave  me,  or  I  shall  have  to  return 
to  the  house." 

"  But,  dearest,  who  but  me  should  soothe  away  your  sor- 
rows ?  You  know  that  I  would  gladly  devote  " 

"  Leave  me — leave  me,"  cried  Kate  in  a  sort  of  agony. 
"  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  talk  so  ;  go  to  the  parlor  for 
ten  minutes,  please  Edward." 

He  looked  doubtfully  at  her,  then  kissed  her  cheek,  and 
turned  towards  the  house. 

Kate  dropped  upon  her  knees  to  pray.  How  hard  it  was, 
there,  on  the  spot  haPowed  by  the  precious  dreams  of  years, 
to  give  him  up.  She  had  not  meant  to  meet  him  there.  But 
he  had  come  to  her  bearing  the  broken  flower,  an  omen  of 
her  fate.  How  the  heart,  still  clinging  to  an  earthly  love, 
struggled  with  its  own  throbbings,  and  prayed  for  strength  to 
quell  them.  It  was.  harder,  too,  to  dash  kis  happiness  away, 
than  to  feel  her  own  was  gone.  Such  tasks  sometimes  are 
ordained  of  God  to  try  His  children's  fidelity  to  Him.  But 
the  Spirit  never  forsakes  those  who  call  aloud  for  Almighty 
aid.  When  the  wild  storm  of  feeling  was  hushed  in  prayer, 
God  sent  his  Comforter  with  words  that  rung  through  all 
the  chambers  of  her  soul,  "  As  thy  day,  so  shall  thy  strength 
be." 

When  Edward  returned,  she  was  sitting  there,  with  her 
hands  folded  on  her  lap,  and  her  face  calm ;  but  her  cheeks 
wore  a  hectic  flush,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  water. 

"Well,  Katie,  tell  me  now  why  you  wept  so  bitterly? 
Was  your  rose  of  such  vast  moment,  or  have  I  offended  you 
in  any  other  way  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice  that  told  his 
listener  of  the  reproach  his  heart  was  uttering  for  worse  than 
the  accidental  breaking  of  a  rose. 

"  Edward,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low,  quivering  voice,  and  without 
raising  her  eyes,  "  you  have  thought  me  wanting  in  affection 
to  defer  the  period  to  which  we  have  both  looked  as  the  hap- 


360  KATE    WESTON. 

piest  moment  of  our  lives."  She  paused  to  gather  breath, 
for  her  voice  almost  choked.  Edward's  face  flushed  almost 
to  scarlet,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  Kate  continued :  "  Events 
have  occurred  which  have  led  me  to  feel  that  our  mutual 
happiness  would  never  follow  our  union." 

"  Then  you  have  ceased  to  love  me,  Kate !" 

The  quiver  that  played  at  the  corners  of  the  lovely  mouth 
was  answer  enough ;  but  she  said  in  a  still  lower  tone,  "  I 
shall  love  you  Edward,  and  you  only,  till  the  day  I  die ;  but 
I  know  that  under  present  circumstances,  I  should  not  add  to 
your  happiness." 

"  Kate,  do  you  not  believe  that  I  would  give  up  anything 
for  you?" 

"  I  do  not  ask  it.     I  shall  only  pray  " 

"  Pray  what,  Kate  ?"  this  with  an  eager  tremor. 

"  That  you  may  learn  at  last  to  give  up  all  for  Christ." 

"  But  I  will  leave  all  to-morrow,  if  you  will  be  my  wife." 

The  speaking  eyes  were  for  a  moment  upraised.  "  Your 
chance  in  the  Senate  !" 

"  You  do  not  wish  that.  I  mean  all  my  associates,  and — 
wine,  if  you  wish  it,  Kate." 

Her  eyes  fell  again.  "  There  is  no  safety  out  of  the  Ark, 
Christ  Jesus.  Oh !  Edward,  give  up  your  nomination,  leave 
all  your  old  acquaintances  and  temptations,  and  let  us  fly  to 
some  place  of  refuge." 

"  I  have  pledged  myself  to  stand  by  the  party  I  represent^ 
and  you,  Kate,  would  be  the  last  to  induce  me  to  violate  a 
pledge." 

"  It  cannot  be !"  sobbed  Kate,  again  bursting  into  tears. 
"  We  must  part.  I  can  never  be  yours,  Edward.  Go,  and 
forget  me." 

"  Forget  you,  Kate !" 

She  pressed  back  the  tears,  and  stood  up,  pointing  to  a 
linden  tree  in  the  garden,  just  visible  between  the  shrubbery. 
"There  is  the  tree  that  was  to  be  like  you,  Edward.  It  has 


SATE    WESTON.  361 

been  drooping  for  two  or  three  seasons,  and  now  you  see  it 
has  become  leafless  before  any  other  tree  in  the  garden." 

"  And  you  would  thrust  aside  the  withered  branches,  to  be 
nursed  by  no  fostering  hand,  nor  nourished  by  any  sunlight," 
answered  Edward,  with  some  bitterness. 

"  No,  Edward,  it  is  not  that ;  I  would  spend  my  life  in  try- 
ing to  restore  its  beauty,  did  I  not  know  that  so  to  do  were 
sin,  and  could  be  productive  of  no  happiness.  I  only  spoke 
to  tell  you  this ;  no  power  but  that  of  God,  no  sun  but  that 
of  piety,  can  bring  life  to  the  heart  so  mixed  up  with  the 
cares  and  pleasures  of  this  world  as  to  forget  Heaven." 

Her  voice  had  gathered  strength,  and  she  looked,  as  the 
red  autumn  sunlight  streamed  through  the  foliage  on  her 
figure,  like  a  beautiful  prophetess  giving  forth  the  oracles  of 
God.  "  No,  Edward,  I  can  not  become  your  wife ;  but  I  will 
pray  for  you  as  you  pass  on  your  way  of  peril,  and  I  will 
believe  that,  at  some  far  distant  day,  perhaps,  when  ambition 
has  ceased  to  lure,  and  you  have  achieved  a  temporary  vic- 
tory over  that  mightier  tyrant,  wine,  you  will  be  brought  to 
the  feet  of  Him  who  will  sustain  in  suffering,  shield  in  temp- 
tation, and  deliver  from  evil  all  who  come  unto  Him." 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  then  stepping  nearer  to  him,  she 
said  tremulously,  "  And  now,  Edward,  you  must  not  see  me 
for  some  time  again ;  we  could  not  bear  it,  until  we  had 
learned  to  think  of  one  another  as  dear  friends,  but  nothing 
more.  My  heart  is  yours  till  death.  Good-bye."  She 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  and  two  or  three  hot  tears 
dropped  upon  his  face. 

He  put  out  his  arms  to  detain  her.  But  she  was  gone. 
He  watched  her  gliding  swiftly  up  the  path,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  angel  of  his  life  went  with  her  from  his  presence 
for  ever. 


362  KATE    WESTON. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  ROOM,  there — room !  I  hain't  got  my  vote  in  yet. 
Faugh,  you  smell  as  strong  here,  as  though  you'd  been  pour- 
ing down  raw  brandy  by  the  pailful,"  and  red-whiskered 
Jonathan  Meeks  blustered  his  way  to  the  polls  through  the 
half-drunken  crowd,  with  as  much  ease  as  a  man  might  scat- 
ter a  lot  of  monkeys  on  either  side. 

"  Nebber  seed  nuffin  like  yer,  dis  nigger  didn't,  nohow !" 
shouted  Lame  Joe,  rolling  his  eyes,  and  showing  his  teeth. 
"  Since  dat  mem'able  'casion  ob  yer  refferation,  'pears  yer's  a 
smellin'  eberyting  under  de  sun.  Tink  yer's  snifflefied  yer 
own  bref  some  time  back,  dis  nigger  does  now."  Joe  looked 
very  philosophical,  and  scratched  his  head  accordingly. 

"  Jonathan's  cold  water  man  now,"  exclaimed  Tom  Brown, 
looking  ten  years  older  than  we  last  saw  him.  "  Better  turn 
Methodist,  Jonathan,  like  friend  Jones.  So  happy  to  get  his 
freedom  since  he's  been  bachelor,  went  and  turned  sarm- 
singer  on  the  strength  of  it." 

"Don't  say  nuffin,"  said  Joe  in  an  undertone,  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear,  "  reckon  sornebody'd  sing  hi-lorious  sarms  if 
he'd  a  got  a  wife  at  all ;  'pears  quare  now,  don't  it  ?" 

Brown  turned  redder  in  the  face  than  ever.  "  I  thought 
Joe,  you  know'd  your  place,  sir  " — 

"  Hi,"  said  Joe,  with  his  arms  on  one  side. 

Brown  turned  up  his  cuffs,  and  squared  himself.  Joe  burst 
into  a  guffaw,  and  two  or  three  of  the  bystanders,  who  had 
laughed  before,  shouted,  "  Give  it  him,  Joe ;  give  it  him." 

"  'Pears  now,  dat  ain't  fair  play,  nohow ;  I  could  throw  yer 


KATE    WESTON.  363 

out  doors,  in  a  half  a  minute,  don't  yer  know  dat  now  ? 
Lawsakes,  don't  know  nuffin  'bout  Joe  yet,  don't  mean  nuffin 
'fall,  jes'  little  fun,  dat's  all." 

"  Polls  closed  !'  Seven  o'clock,"  shouted  Jonathan  Meeks, 
returning  through  the  crowd.  "  Guess  Clarence'll  get  it  for 
Senator;  what,  Teddy,  you  here?"  The  huge,  whiskered 
fellow  stooped  and  lifted  Teddy  Toole  from  a  low  bench 
where  he  had  fallen  from  sheer  want  of  ability  to  keep  him- 
self upright.  "  Save  us,  can't  you  do  nothing  but  carry  on 
this  way.  Why,  man,  you're  dead  drunk  already,  come 
along  home." 

"Dat  feller  can't  stan'  noting  noway,  han't  regested  no 
more'n  ole  Joe ;  'pears  Rosey'd  look  quite  smilin'  if  I  didn't 
imbulge  no  farder." 

"So  much  the  more  shame  for  you,  then,"  answered 
Jonathan,  at  the  same  time  making  an  effort  to  draw  Teddy 
after  him.  "  Great,  strong  chaps  like  you  never  does  show 
the  drink  so  quick.  But  it'll  show  after  a  while ;  when  the 
horrors  comes  again,  Joe,  you'll  be  worse  nor  poor  Teddy  is 
now." 

"  Dis  nigger  ain't  afeard  ob  dem  yer,  noways,"  laughed  Joe, 
"  plenty  ob  de  article  keeps  off  de  horrors.  Guess  dat's  what 
frightened  brudder  Jonathan  now,  'pears  quare  he's  so  stiddy, 
don't  it?"  The  drunken  negro  looked  round  upon  the 
bystanders  with  a  grin  of  ridicule,  but  Jonathan,  totally 
heedless  of  his  fun,  almost  shouldered  Teddy,  and  marched 
slowly  out,  saying  as  he  went,  "  Now  you  all  know  that  1 
don't  care  a  straw  for  your  bantering ;  when  Jonathan  Meeks 
does  a  thing,  its  done,  and  no  half-way  work  about  it.  Come, 
Teddy." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  might  as  well  clar  out,  too,"  said  Joe, 
moving  with  a  slight  swagger  to  the  door.  "  Dey  won't  let 
us  stay  here  now ;  let  us  trabble  on  to  Tim  Rafferty's." 

"  Tain't  often  we  get  leave  to  stay  so  long  as  this  here ; 
said  a  fellow  in  a  red  flannel  shirt,  and  blue  pantaloons. 


364  KATE    WESTON. 

"  Gamp  gets  custom  enough,  now-a-days,  without  poor  devils 
like  us.  Let's  have  three  cheers  for  Dr.  Clarence,  before  we 
go,  anyhow." 

"Three  cheers  for  Dr.  Clarence,"  shouted  Joe.  "He'll 
cany  ebery  ting,  so  he  will ;  nebber  seed  nuffin  like 
him." 

"  Three  cheers  for  Dr.  Clarence,  boys.  Hurra  !  Hurra  ! 
Hurra  T 

The  room  rang  with  the  repeated  shouts,  and  before  the 
echo  had  fairly  died  away,  the  intoxicated  group  had 
nearly  deserted  the  place,  shouting  and  cheering  on  their  way 
to  a  lower  den  of  drunkenness  and  ruin. 

In  the  saloon  above  were  gathered  a  company  of  a  very 
-different  character  from  that  congregated  in  the  lower  apart- 
ments. Judges,  lawyers,  physicians,  merchants  from  two  or 
three  of  the  neighboring  towns,  had  dropped  in  to  ascertain 
the  respective  chances  of  their  favorite  candidates,  while  the 
anxious  candidate  who  had  received  the  almost  certain 
majority  for  Senator,  lingered  with  fevered  anxiety,  lacking 
both  inclination  and  ability  to  leave  the  charmed  spot  until 
his  success  was  decided. 

Edward  was  sitting  at  one  end  of  the  room,  receiving  congra- 
tulations and  assurances  of  victory  from  his  friends.  But,  to 
those  who  knew  him  well,  an  expression  of  painful  unrest  told 
of  keener  suffering  than  the  most  triumphant  success  could 
have  inspired  joy.  There  was  a  fire  in  the  eye,  and  a  dark 
red  spot  in  each  cheek,  that  seemed  deeper  in  its  intensity 
than  even  the  excitement  of  such  an  hour  would  indicate, 
lie  was  suffering  severely  from  a  violent  headache,  and  the  hot 
blood  coursed  wildly  through  his  veins.  Wine,  as  usual,  was 
circulating  freely,  and  the  young  man  partook  recklessly  of 
the  only  stimulus  that  could  render  him  able  to  meet  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  occasion. 

"  Calm  yourself,  young  gentleman,"  said  Judge  Reid  with  a 
pompous  bow,  "there  is  not  the  slightest  danger  of  your 


KATE    WESTON.  365 

defeat.  Look  upon  it  as  decided,  go  home  and  to  sleep,  and 
all  will  be  right  in  the  morning." 

Lawyer  Flip  glanced  at  Edward,  saying,  "  I  have  no  more 
doubt  than  you  of  the  result  of  the  election,  but  I  haven't  much 
faith  in  putting  that  patient  to  sleep,  until  the  crisis  of  his 
disease  is  past." 

"  Really,"  said  young  Reid,  "  one  would  thuppothe  that 
thome  other  cauthe  of  ancthiety  exthithted  for  Dr.  Claranthe. 
He  wath  quite  thelf-pothethed  latht  time  he  wath  a  can- 
didate." 

The  peculiar  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered,  caused 
both  Edward  and  Judge  Reid  to  look  up  for  his  meaning. 
There  was  an  expression  of  triumph  gleaming  over  his  face 
that  puzzled  the  Judge,  who  turned  away  again  to  discuss  his 
champagne.  But  to  Edward's  mind  there  flashed  a  sudden 
memory  of  his  having  seen  Reid  several  separate  times  enter- 
ing or  emerging  from  Mrs.  Weston's  door,  and  that  during 
the  two  months  of  his  absence  from  the  house.  He  had  never, 
for  a  moment,  lost  his  faith  in  the  purity  of  motive  that  had 
prompted  Kate's  conduct,  but  now  a  flash  of  something 
between  terror  and  indignation  shot  through  his  fevered 
brain.  How  should  Reid  know  of  the  cause  of  his  deepest 
anxiety  ?  Why  should  he  visit  there  so  often  ?  how  could 
he  dare  to  oast  that  glance  of  triumph  upon  him,  unless  he 
had  received  some  token  of  favor  ? 

The  flush  grew  deeper  on  his  face,  and  the  pang  keener  in 
his  heart.  Once  he  would  have  scorned  the  thought  of  such 
suspicion,  but  he  had  mingled  much  with  a  fickle  world,  and 
he  was  losing  hold  of  his  fresh  faith  in  the  true  hearts  of  his 
childish  love.  Reid  was  wealthy,  aristocratic,  and  generally 
considered  fascinating  to  an  extreme.  He  himself  had  been 
less  attentive  for  many  months,  ever  since  that  peace-destroy- 
ing election  had  been  talked  about. 

He  hardly  cared  now,  if  he  won  or  lost  the  prize.  But 
still,  if  he  did  not  win,  into  what  channel  could  he  throw  his 


366  KATE    WESTON. 

desperate  feelings.  He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  brow, 
laughed,  talked,  and  used  every  effort  to  mingle  in  the  gay 
flow  of  spirit  around  him. 

They  stayed — Edward,  Judge  Reid,  lawyer  Flip,  and  a  few 
more  of  his  friends,  until  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  waiting  for  the 
last  returns.  At  length  the  news  came  from  N —  and  R — ,  two 
of  the  remotest  towns,  that  it  could  not  be  decided  until  the 
following  day.  So  they  were  obliged  to  leave,  one,  at  least, 
of  them,,  completely  worn  out  in  mind  and  body,  but  doomed 
still  to  suffer  from  newly-awakened  suspicions,  and  prolonged 
suspense. 

Little  that  passed  under  Gamp's  observation  but  was  remem- 
bered by  him.  He  alone  of  those  present  had  read  the  pur- 
port of  those  two  glances  passing  between  Reid  and  Clarence. 
When  they  had  all  left  him,  he  sat  musing  by  the  lower  fire. 
His  blood  was  cool,  his  step  firm  as  usual. 

A  low  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  As  he  opened  it,  Dr. 
Higgins,  lank  and  forlorn  as  usual,  only  a  little  more  so, 
pushed  into  the  saloon. 

"  What  the  — —  brought  you  here  this  time  o'  night  ?" 
said  the  gentlemanly  proprietor,  looking  cornerwise  at  his 
visitor.  "  You  are  getting  dissipated,  old  boy.  '  Tread  the 
mill  steadily.' " 

"  Hush,"  said  Higgins,  in  a  whisper,  closing  the  door,  and 
looking  round  with  a  frightened  air.  "  More's  in  the  wind 
than  you  think  for,  Gamp.  Are  you  alone  ?" 

As  his  visitor  was  speaking  earnestly,  and  without  his  drawl, 
Gamp  was  a  little  startled,  but  he  locked  the  door  slowly,  and 
led  the  way  to  a  seat  by  the  fire.  "  What  is  it  then  ?"  he 
asked,  a  little  impatiently.  "  Out  with  it,  Higgins." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  alone  ?"  asked  the  cadaverous 
doctor,  with  his  eyes  peering  into  every  corner  of  the  dimly 
lighted  room.  "  Why  don't  you  keep  lights  burning  ?  this 
fire  doesn't  give  light  enough,  nor  half." 

"  What's  in  you,  fellow  ?"  answered  his  companion,  looking 


KATE    WESTON.  367 

at  his  blanched  face.  "You're  liker  a  ghost  than  ever,  I 
declare.  Here,  take  this,"  and  he  pushed  over  a  goblet  of 
wine.  "  Nobody's  here,  out  with  it,  man." 

Higgins  dranK  off  the  goblet  without  a  word,  then  drawing 
his  chair  close  to  Gamp,  and  lowering  his  voice,  he  asked 
"  Do  you  know  what  ever  became  of  Mary  Morris  ?"  • 

"  I  don't  often  lose  track  of  anybody  with  whom  I  have  had 
such  dealings  as  I  had  with  her,"  was  the  answer.  "  'Twouldn't 
be  safe,  I  imagine ;  when  you  drive  skittish  horses,  you  must 
keep  hold  of  the  reins,  or  nobody  knows  where  you'll  steer  to." 

"  Mr.  Dunn  always  thought  she  was  in  Australia,"  said  his 
visitor. 

"  The  more  fool  he !  If  he  had  looked  after  her  a  little, 
he  might  have  been  well  enough  yet.  I  never  forget  old 
friends  so  easily." 

"  But  you  don't  know  that  she  is  Maggie  Terry's  mother," 
whispered  Higgins. 

"  Well,  Higgins,  you  are  a  cove !  Couldn't  you  see  it,  the 
minute  you  laid  your  eyes  on  the  girl.  I'm  expecting  every 
day  to  receive  a  visit  from  that  respectable  lady.  She  was 
always  wild  over  her  brats,  and  she's  been  6ut  here  half  a 
dozen  times  already,  but  they  don't  know  it." 

The  doctor  started.     "  I've  never  seen  her  since  " — 

"That's  because  you've  lost  your  wits,  man,  or  rather, 
because  you've  never  had  any.  You're  all  heart,  Higgins; 
whatever  good  deeds  you've  accomplished,  your  head  hadn't 
much  to  do  with  them,  anyhow.  But  say,"  he  added  with  an 
impatient  sneer,  "  is  that  what  you've  come  to  tell  me  ;  that's 
an  old  story,  hardly  worth  repeating.  It  seems  to  have  taken 
a  wonderful  hold  on  you,  though." 

"  But  she's  been  writing  letters  to  Dr.  Clarence.  She's  told 
the  whole  history  of  our  doings  with  her  and  her  husband ; 
more,  by  a  long  shot  than  /  thought  she  ever  knew." 

"  And  what  o'  that  ?  She's  not  like  you.  Her  delectable 
mode  of  life  has  sharpened  her  eyes.  She's  one  o'ihe  keen 


3C8  KATE    WESTON. 

'uns,  is  she,  but  if  she  couldn't  prove  anything  against  us  when 
she  was  a  decent  woman,  you  don't  fancy  she'd  do  anything 
now  the  story's  such  an  old  one,  and  she — ,  you're  a  fool, 
man  !  you  don't  suppose  she'd  be  believed  on  oath  now  ;  1 
took  good  care  of  that,  years  ago." 

Higgtns's  lank  figure  shivered,  and  he  peered  into  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room.  "  Fact  is,  Gamp,  I  ain't  over  easy  any 
of  these  days.  My  constitution's  so  impaired,  that  it  affects  my 
spirits  wonderfully.  I'd  be  willing  to  live  in  a  hut  on  bread 
and  water  all  my  life,  if  I  could  take  back  the  wretched  deeds 
of  my  past  history." 

"  You're  in  the  wrong  box  when  you  come  to  me  with  any 
of  your  cant;  keep  a  stout  heart,  man";  you  know  the  deviFfl 
run  off  with  you  at  last,  don't  let  him  get  your  soul  for 
nothing ;  get  all  you  can  out  of  him  first.  That's  my  policy." 
"  But  she  writes  other  things  that  I  know  nothing  of.  Some 
man  that  started  a  porter-house  in  Catharine  street  about 
the  time  you  left,  has  told  some  strange  stories  about  a 
Timothy  Murphy,  that  she  seems  somehow  to  be  certain  is 
you." 

There  was  the  slightest  perceptible  pallor  on  the  listener's 
face,  and  he  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  companion.  Some- 
thing in  the  black  depths  of  those  evil  eyes  must  have  struck 
Higgins,  for  he  turned  away  his  gaze  with  a  shudder,  saying, 
"  A  hard  story  she  tells,  too." 

"How  the did  you  get  hold  of  all  this  precious  informa- 
tion ?"  cried  Gamp,  with  a  forced  laugh.  « I  didn't  know  you 
-were  on  such  intimate  terms  with  your  old  friend  Clarence." 

"  He  didn't  make  me  his  confidant,  by  any  means,  but  he 
commenced  quizzing  me  in  a  roundabout  way ;  that  led  me 
to  suspect  something,  and  I've  been  trying  to  find  out  what  he 
meant  ever  since.  I  knew  there  was  no  way  but  to  get  hold 
of  some  of  his  letters,  so  I  kept  a  strict  lookout.  One  day 
the  boy  that  carries  up  the  letters  stopped  at  the  office  with 
one  or  two  for  me.  I  sent  him  after  a  pitcher  of  water,  and 


KATE    WESTON.  369 

slipped  one  letter  from  his  bundle.  He's  a  careless  chap,  and 
nobody'd  think  but  he'd  lost  it." 

"  You've  some  sense  left,  at  any  rate,"  laughed  Gamp. 
"  And  what  was  in  the  letter  ?" 

"  Allusions  to  the  affair  in  which  we  were  so  mixed  up,  and 
this  new  story  about  Timothy  Murphy,  and  a  young  Benson 
who  had  died  at  sea.  She  seemed  to  think  that  Billy  was  his 
child,  but  wasn't  certain  of  it.  Then  there  was  something 
about  a  mutiny  and  a  murder,  and  Murphy's  escape  in  some 
mysterious  manner  from  the  hold  of  the  ship  where  he  had 
been  confined,  while  the  vessel  lay  at  some  port  in  Europe. 
She  said  that  she  had  so  managed  that  no  one  knew,  thus  far, 
of  Murphy's  identity  or  existence^  save  herself,  but  when  Dr. 
Clarence  should  visit  Shroeck  as  he  had  promised,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  reveal  all  that  was  known.  Of  course  I  knew 
nothing  about  that  affair.  The  letter  was  signed  '  Maggie's 
Mother,'  but  I  understood  the  allusions  to  her  earlier  years 
too  well  to  be  deceived." 

Either  the  flickering  fire  or  some  sudden  sickness  spread  for 
a  moment  a  deathly  paleness  on  the  face  of  the  attentive 
listener,  but  he  stooped  "over,  as  if  to  stir  the  fire,  saying  with 
a  forced  sneer,  "  And  so  that  is  the  bugaboo  that  scared  you, 
ha  ?  What  on  earth  is  all  that  to  me  or  you  either  ?" 

"She  seemed,"  saidHiggins,  hesitating,  "so  certain  of  your 
identity  with  Murphy,  that  I  thought  when  that  affair  was 
searched  into,  perhaps  " — 

"Perhaps  some  other  affair  might  be  brought  up  along 
with  it,  and  your  name  might  be  mentioned  in  connection 
with  somewhat  equivocal  company.  I  feel  myself,"  he  added, 
raising  himself  with  a  mock  bow,  "  under  eternal  obligations 
for  your  disinterested  friendship.  There  wasn't  such  vast 
occasion  for  alarm,  however.  Women's. whims  are  not  worth 
minding." 

"  But  she  spoke  particularly  of  Billy,  and  of  a  package  of 
papers  which  she  had  got  from  the  porter-house  keeper  in 
16* 


370  KATE    WE6TON. 

Catharine  street,  and  sent  about  a  month  ago  to  Dr.  Clarence. 
She  mentioned  your  eyes  too,  and  that  scar  on  your  left  cheek, 
as  marks  spoken  of  by  Shroeck,  and  I  thought" — 

"  You  thought  the  evidence  was  conclusive,  ha  ?"  Gamp 
rose  suddenly  from  his  chair,  his  face  livid  with  suppressed 
rage,  and  coming  close  to  Higgins,  he  doubled  his  fist  close 
to  his  listener's  face,  "  Harkee,  sirrah,  do  you  know  where  I  got 
that  scar  ?  The  captain  of  a  ship  struck  me  with  a  marlin 
spike,  and  I  throttled  him  with  this  hand  till  he  was  dead.  I 
was  put  in  iron's,  but  I  escaped.  The  devil  couldn't  keep  me 
if  I  was  bound  to  get  away,  and  no  mortal  man  shall  thwart 
me,  and  live.  Now,  sir,  you  know  your  man ;  ever  lisp  one 

word  of  what  you  have  said  to  me,  and  by I'll  throttle  you 

like  a  dog.  I'll  follow  you  night  and  day,  and  drink  your 
life's  blood  out,  as  I  have  done  others  before  you.  And  if  I 
come  to  the  gallows  at  last,  I'll  promise  that  you  shall  keep 
me  company."  He  wound  up  with  a  hoarse  oath,  and  a  flour- 
ish of  his  clenched  fist,  while  his  companion,  trembling  with 
terror,  edged  away  his  chair,  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  glassily 
upon  the  fiendish  face  and  squinting  eyes  that  shot  fire  from 
their  depths. 

As  Gamp  turned  round,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  figure  but  dimly 
seen  in  the  fading  firelight,  standing  in  the  doorway  at  the 
foot  of  the  stair-case  leading  to  the  upper  saloon.  "  What 
ith  the  difficulty  here  ?"  cried  young  Reid,  walking  up  to  the 
fire ;  "  I  wath  athleep  up  there,  and  I  heard  thuch  a  deuthed 
noithe,  that  I  woke  up  in  a  hurry.  What'th  the  quarrel, 
Doctor  ?"  He  walked  straight  up  in  front  of  the  paralyzed 
Higgins,  while  Gamp  doubled  his  fist  behind  him,  and  brought 
it  suddenly  to  within  one  inch  of  the  head  of  the  unwelcome 
visitor,  then,  as  though  by  a  mighty  effort,  he .  let  it  drop 
again,  forced  away  the  fierce  glance  of  revenge  that  had 
fallen  unheeded  upon  the  innocent  young  puppy,  and  walked 
away  to  the  upper  saloon. 

The  eyes  of  the  poor  doctor  followed  him  until  ho  was  out 


KATE    WESTON.  371 

of  sight,  then  for  the  first  time  were  allowed  to  fall  upon  his 
interrogator.  "  Matter  ?"  he  muttered,  "  oh,  nothing  of  any 
consequence,  it's  all  right,  I'm  agreeable  to  anything,  I'm 
sure." 

"  What  on  earth  wath  he  making  thuch  a  hurrah  for,  then  ? 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  fight,  'pon  honor ;  you  look  thick, 
doctor,  alarming,  really.  Better  take  thomething." 

Gamp  was  absent  but  a  moment,  and  when  he  returned, 
his  face  wore  its  usual  bland  expression.  "  How  came  you 
to  escape  my  observation,  sir  ?"  he  asked  with  a  searching 
glance  from  under  his  black  eyebrows  at  the  young  man's 
face. 

"  Fact  ith,  I  was  deuthed  tired,  waiting  tho  late  for  the 
returnth,  and  concluded  to  take  a  nap,  while  guv'nor  and 
hon'ble  talked  politicth.  Bleth  me,"  he  added,  rubbing  his 
eyes,  "  but  I  never  thtirred  till  I  heard  you  quarrelling  here. 
Gueth  you're  like  me,  took  a  drop  more  than  you  needed. 
How  did  election  go,  ha  ?" 

"  We  haven't  found  out  yet,  sir,"  answered  Gamp.  "  News 

from  N and  R there  was  no  telling  till  to-morrow. 

Oh,  Clarence'll  get  it  fast  enough,  no  fear  o'  that;  but  he 
looks  bad,  worn  out." 

Reid  smiled  knowingly.  "  He  hath  troubleth  of  hith  own, 
I  imagine ;  but  thuctheth,  I  hope,  will  drive  them  away." 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  Gamp,  blandly,  still  keeping  his  gaze 
upon  the  young  man's  face,  "  that  Mr.  Reid  was  robbing  him 
of  some  other  honors." 

Reid  answered  with  a  gratified  expression,  and  a  toss  of 
the  head.  "  Have  you  ?  indeed !  I  didn't  know  that  any 
thuch  agreeable  reportth  were  about.  Thenatorth  are  not 
alwayth  the  motht  irrethithtible."  He  stroked  down  his 
fashionable  mustache,  and  Gamp  would  have  liked  at  that 
moment  to  pull  it  out  by  the  roots ;  but  he  answered  in  his 
most  insinuating  tone, 

"  Some  men  have  complete  control  over  the  ladies ;  Dr. 


372  KATE    WESTON. 

Clarence  would  hardly  hope  to  conquer  alongside  of  you,  sir. 
Your  name  is  spread  far  and  wide,  sir,  as  a  lady-killer." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  answered  Reid,  with  a  smirk ;  then,  as 
though  recollecting  that  he  was  compromising  his  dignity, 
he  assumed  his  own  ludicrous  hauteur,  and  rose  stiffly  to 
leave. 

"  The  doctor,"  continued  Gamp,  "  is  considerably  indebted 
to  you,  for  I  believe  I  should  have  given  him  a  thrashing,  if 
you  had  not  come  in  the  moment  you  did.  He  brought  me 
in  such  an  enormous  bill — you  know  he's  a  sharper,  sir." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  the  young  man,  haughtily,  "  if  I 
wath  the  inthrument  of  tho  much  good.  I  fanthied  I  heard 
thomething  about  the  gallowth,  and  wath  quite  alarmed. 
Good  evening,  doctor.  Good  evening,  thir." 

Half  an  hour  after,  Higgins  was  on  his  way  home,  and 
Gamp  sat  with  clenched  hands  looking  into  the  fire.  "  What 
a  fool !"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  "  to  let  that  conceited 
jackanapes  have  a  chance  to  riear  such  precious  secrets. 
Thanks  to  his  idiocy,  though,  I  don't  believe  he  knows  any- 
thing that  was  said.  Yet — if  he  were  but  to  mention  the 
incident,  and  Clarence  were  to  get  hold  of  it,  it  would  sound 
queer,  best  way  I  can  fix  it.  Something  must  be  done,  that's 
clear." 

He  sat  for  an  hour  without  speaking.  There  was  no  motion 
of  the  face,  yet  there  was  a  something  changing  ever  in  those 
terrible  black  eyes,  and  on  that  fierce  brow.  Hatred — 
doubt — triumph — scorn,  but  never  fear — gleamed  by  turns 
from  the  daring  soul  within.  At  last  he  broke  the  stillness. 
"  That's  it ;  when  did  my  wits  ever  forsake  me ;  I've  come 
nearer  the  gallows  than  this,  more  than  once  before ;  guess 
I'll  have  to  try  a  bold  game  this  time  too.  Settle  Reid  and 
Clarence,  then  there's  the  hag,  something'll  have  to  be  done 
with  her — and  Shroeck — and  that  Bill — if  he  crosses  my 
way," — he  grated  his  teeth  together,  and  ground  his  heel 
hard  upon  the  hearth.  After  a  few  minutes'  pause,  he  added 


KATE   WESTON.  373 

with  a  low  laugh,  "  Ha !  fools,  not  knaves,  are  the  ones  that 
swing.     I'll  manage  it." 

Five  minutes  later,  the  great  room  was  left  alone.  The 
clock  ticking  on  the  mantel, — the  casks  ranged  along  the 
wall,— the  decanters  glistening  in  the  starlight  that  glim- 
mered in  at  the  little  top-window — the  great  fireplace  whence 
the  ^vind  whistled  up  through  the  chimney.  Strange  sounds 
mingled  with  the  ticking  of  the  clock  and  the  sighing  of 
the  winds.  Strange  gleams,  not  made  by  the  starlight, 
flashed  along  the  laden  shelves.  The  dark,  still  solitude  was- 
peopled. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  next  morning  Kate  Weston  was  up  with  the  dawn. 
Her  cheek  was  pale,  and  her  eye  sunken,  as  though  she  had 
not  slept  All  the  morning  she  wandered  restlessly  to  and 
fro,  as  though  incapable  of  going  quietly  as  she  was  wont, 
about  her  domestic  duties.  Now  to  the  front  window,  now 
down  to  where  Rosy  and  Rebecca  Jones  were  working  in  the 
dairy,  then  back  to  her  room  to  take  up  her  sewing  and  leave 
it  in  five  minutes  to  listen  to  some  fancied  murmur  in  the 
street.  Her  mother  watched  her  restless  step,  and  listened 
almost  as  anxiously  as  she  to  every  passing  voice. 

"Dar  now,  sweet  soul,"  muttered  Rosy  over  her  churn, 
"but  it  make  dis  heart  ache,  anyhow,  to  see  her  trabbling 
about  so  oneasy  all  de  time.  God  bless  her !  she  looks  jes' 
like  an  angel  wid  de  consumption;  'pears  she's  growin'  to 
noting  at  all  dese  yer  times.  She's  mighty  'stressed  'bout 
dat  'lection ;  lawsakes,  oilers  thought  Missie  Katie  didn't  like 
Massa  Ned  to  be  'lected,  anyway ;  an'  here  she's  jest  a  gwine 


374  KATE   WESTON. 

an'  gwine  up  an'  down  de  house,  as  dough  her  life  was 
impending  on  it;  nebber  seed  nuffin  like  it!  Wish  Joe'd 
come  an'  tell  us,  jes  for  her  sake.  'Taint  right  fur  me  to  ask 
what  fur  de  Lord  Almighty  let  de  debil  loose  to  vex  poor  old 
sinful  Rosy,  but  can't  see  now  what  eber  was  de  reason  he 
wouldn't  keep  him  out  de  way  ob  Mass'  Edward  an'  Miss 
Katie." 

The  great  yellow  turfcan  quivered  a  little,  and  two  or  three 
tears  were  stealing  over  the  honest  black  face,  as  she  turned 
•to  open  the  door  for  Joe.  As  he  entered,  a  little  soberer  than 
usual,  a  light  footstep  was  on  the  kitchen  stair,  and  Kate, 
holding  fast  to  the  latch  of  the  door  looked  speechlessly 
towards  him. 

"  Dr.  Clarence  beat  dem  all  hollow ;  dis  nagger  nebber  seed 
nuffin"— 

"  Lawsakes,  my  darling !"  cried  Rosy,  starting  forward  and 
putting  her  brawny  arms  about  the  slender  waist,  "  do  sit 
down  here;  you  are  pale  as  death.  Joe,  bring  me  some 
water." 

"  Never  mind,  Rosy,  I'm  better,  now,"  said  Kate,  rallying. 
"  Give  me  a  glass  of  water ;  a  little  faint,  that's  all,  I'm  not 
well  to  day ;  there,  I'll  go  up  to  mother,  you  need  not  come, 
Rosy,  I'm  well  enough  now." 

Rosy  watched  her  all  the  way  up-stairs,  and  turned  back 
to  her  churn,  without  deigning  to  cast  a  glance  at  Joe. 

"Well  to-day,  sweetheart,  nor  won't  be  well  neider,  nor 
Rosy  neider,  till  dem  renimical  rumsellers  gets  away."  The 
churn  rattled  away  all  the  time,  and  the  big  tears  streamed 
down  over  the  face.  "Dey's  talkin'  about  stopping  dem 
selling  sich  tings ;  wish  dey  could,  anyways ;  sign  de 
pledge ;  great  'fair  dat !  Joe's  done  it  tree  times,  but  de  fus 
ting  I  know'd,  dere  he  was  cuttin'  up  hicumflorious  agin  and 
trabblin'  like  a  whirlwind  right  ahead  to  de  bery  place  " — she 
dropped  her  dash,  and  whirled  suddenly  round  in  front  of 
him. 


KATE    WE8TOX.  375 

"  Joe,  ain't  dar  no  way  on  all  de  earth  fur  you  to  do  nuffin 
to  save  yerself?  'Pears  like  ye  might  do  suthin'  if  ye'd  on'y 
try.  I'd  tote  way  off  down  South,  and  tear  up  all  dern  free 
papers  ob  ours ;  I'd  go  to  prison  right  off  dis  minute,  ef  I 
was  only  sure  ye'd  never  touch  anoder  drop  ob  de  sperrits  as 
long  as  you  live.  De  good  Lord  knows,"  she  cried,  with 
streaming  eyes  and  brawny  arms  outstretched,  "  I'd  lie  right 
down  in  de  grave,  ef  dat  would  save  you  from  de  drefful  way 
you're  a  gwine." 

When  Kate  went  up  to  the  little  sitting-room,  she 
knelt  right  down  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  buried  her  face 
in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  Mrs.  Weston  did  not  speak ;  she 
knew  exactly  to  what  tension  the  chords  of  that  young  heart 
were  drawn,  she  felt  the  quiver  of  the  frail  figure,  she  knew 
why  the  sobs  rolled  out  from  the  heaving  bosom,  as  truly  as 
though  her  ears  had  heard  the  tidings.  She  knew,  although 
the  thought  was  unspoken,  even  scarcely  acknowledged  by 
her  child,  that  up  till  that  moment,  the  hope  had  sustained 
her  drooping  spirit,  that  failure  in  this  scheme  might  restore 
the  wanderer  to  the  peaceful  walks  of  his  early  life,  and  open 
his  eyes  to  the  vanity  of  earth's  renown. 

Now  the  last  link  that  bound  her  life  to  his  was  snapped 
asunder.  She  felt  it,  kneeling  there  with  the  hand  laid  upon 
her  head,  whose  touch  had  soothed  away  her  griefs  from 
infancy.  She  felt  it,  the  quiet  mother,  whose  soul  went  forth 
to  that  less  disciplined  in  trial  than  her  own.  Not  for  one 
instant  was  she  cast  adrift  from  the  anchor,  sure  and  steadfast, 
to  which  years  of  joy  and  sorrow  had  fixed  her  bark  of  life. 
Mingling  with  the  anguish  floated  into  her  spirit's  ear,  "When 
thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee,"  and  she 
knew  that  each  earthly  blind  falling  from  her  daughter's 
vision  would  but  reveal  to  her  clearer  gaze  the  glories  of  the 
only  changeless  One,  "  The  chiefest  among  ten  thousand,  and 
the  altogether  lovely." 

But  the  younger  heart  had  not  learned  its  lesson  of  sub- 


376  KATE    WESTON. 

mission.  In  the  petty  ills  of  life,  when  no  great  cross  had 
been  laid  upon  her,  she  had  been  tried,  and  by  prayer  and 
watchfulness,  had  proved  the  conqueror.  But  now,  for  a 
season,  there  was  darkness, — thick  darkness,  through  which 
the  heavenly  sunlight  could  not  pierce.  She  was  only  twenty- 
two,  but  for  six  years  she  had  been  shrining  in  her  heart  an 
earthly  love,  twining  how  many  of  the  sweet  fancies  that 
only  youth  and  love  can  twine — glorying  long  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  soaring  talents — slowly,  mistily,  catching 
glimpses  of  the  peril  that  lay  in  his  pathway,  realizing  at 
length  the  terrible  sacrifice  that  the  relentless  voice  within 
demanded  at  her  hands — the  lingering  hope, — and  now  the 
dread  despair ! 

At  about  six  o'clock,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following 
the  election,  young  Reid  stepped  into  Gamp's  saloon.  "  Thend 
me  a  dothen  bottleth  of  that  new  champagne,  will  you,  Gamp," 
he  said,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  "  and  hand  me  a  glath 
now ;  I'm  tired,"  he  added  to  himself,  "  and  thith'll  keep  me 
four  full  hourth,  I  am  pothitive.  Buthineth  ith  a  bore.  How- 
ever, I'm  hoping  to  gain  thomething  by  thith." 

Gamp  handed  him  the  wine,  and  retreating  to  his  desk, 
apparently  engaged  in  writing,  took  special  note  of  his  custo- 
mer's appearance.  Reid  was  dressed  with  most  exquisite 
taste,  and  his  hair,  usually  kept  combed  with  maidenly  sleek- 
ness, bore  marks  of  more  than  usual  care.  A  package  of 
papers  peered  pompously  from  the  side-pocket  of  his  great- 
coat, with  some  writing  visible,  but  from  the  desk  it  could  not 
be  distinguished.  When  he  had  gone,  Gamp  called  to  his 
clerk,  bustled  about  for  a  few  minutes,  and  left  the  saloon. 
Reid  was  out  of  sight,  and  the  shadows  were  falling,  but  the 
rumseller  followed  the  direction  he  had  taken.  As  soon  as 
he  had  cleared  the  village  street,  he  leaped  the  hedge  at  the 
road-side,  and  commenced  running.  In  a  few  minntes  he 
caught  sight  of  Reid's  figure,  and,  slackening  his  pace,  kept 
within  sight  without  making  himself  visible.  On,  on  the 


KATE    WESTON.  377 

young  man  wont  until  his  pursuer  saw  him  enter  Mrs.  Wes- 
tern's dwelling.  Then  retracing  his  steps,  he  walked  slowly 
back,  concealed  entirely,  as  well  by  the  thick  hedge,  as  by  the 
gathering  darkness. 

"No  time  to  be  lost,"  he  muttered;  "to  be  sure,  'tisn't 
likely  he'll  think  of  much  beside  his  own  affairs  for  a  few 
days,  at  any  rate.  I'll  set  the  train  going  anyhow,  and  trust 
to  the  devil  to  finish  the  business  for  me.  >  Higgins  said  he 
had  all  the  papers  of  Shroeck.  Blast  it,  if  I  could  get  hold 
o'  them ;  even  Clarence  couldn't  prove  anything  without 
them.  I  must  get  Mm  settled  anyhow,  if  he's  going  to  ferret 
out  what  dpesn't  belong  to  him.  He's  a  smart  chap,  but  not 
hard  to  bait — by  no  means.  Something  like  Higgins,  more 
heart  than  head — only  brighter,  and  his  heart's  on  t'other 
side  too ;  pooh,  I'm  worth  a  dozen  such !" 

He  reached  a  certain  corner  in  the  hedge,  and  as  though 
struck  by  a  sudden  fancy,  snapped  a  jeweled  finger  and 
thumb  together,  and  with  a  low  chuckle  bounded  into  the 
road,  muttering  still,  "  Spill  your  life's  blood,  ha  ?  Han't 
looked  quite  close  enough  after  that  model  boy  of  yours.  Old 
Benson,  too — where's  Bill  ?  I'll  have  to  look  out  for  him,  wish 
I'd  killed  him  out  and  out,  long  ago  !"  This  whole  colloquy 
had  been  uttered  in  a  tone  so  low  that  it  was  scarcely  audible 
to  the  speaker ;  but  as  he  concluded,  he  turned  cautiously 
round,  and  looked  about  him.  Apparently  satisfied  with  his 
scrutiny,  he  passed  on  to  the  office  of  Dr.  Higgins,  where  he 
found  that  gentleman  just  preparing  to  leave. 

"  Come  doctor,"  he  said,  "  defer  your  tea  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  make  a  call  with  me ;  I  want  to  step  in  to.  Dr.  Clarence." 

"  To-night  ?"  said  Higgins,  "  after  "— 

"After  what?"  interrupted  his  visitor.  "I  want  to  stop 
about  the  official  returns  ;  and  I  want  you,  sir,  to  assist  me  in 
bringing  in  something  about  Reid  and  Kate  Weston.  He'd 
hardly  take  it  from  me,  but  Dr.  Higgins  is  entitled  to  atten- 
tion." 


378  KATE    WESTON. 

Higgins  looked  for  a  minute  into  his  companion's  face. 
"  You  don't  mean  it " — 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  interrupted  Gamp  impatiently,  "  and 
there's  no  time  to  lose.  If  you  can't  make  out  my  meaning, 
ponder  over  it  at  your  leisure.  You  and  I  generally  under- 
stand one  another." 

The  submissive  doctor  caught  one  glance  of  those  serpent- 
eyes  that  could  charm  anything  once  within  their  power,  and 
followed  him  out  of  the  office.  "  I  hope,"  he  added,  in  his 
usual  doleful  tone,  as  they  walked  away,  "  you'll  be  careful  for 
your  own  sake,  Gamp,  as  well  as  mine;  I'm  not  afraid  of  your 
prudence,  by  any  means,  but  I'm  nervous  lately,"  and  he 
looked  earnestly  behind  him. 

"  I  thought  you  picked  up  again  always  about  this  time  o' 
year,  when  the  shakes  left  you,  Higgins  ;  why  you're  shaking 
now ;  don't  be  a  fool,  fellow." 

"I  feel  chilly  to-night,"  was  the  reply.  "If  I  hadn't  picked 
up  in  winter,  I  shouldn't  have  been  alive  now ;  I've  attended 
rigidly  to  business,  notwithstanding;  can't  stand  it  though 
another  summer ;  shall  have  to  try  change  of  climate  if  I  como 
down  next  year." 

A  low,  scornful  laugh  was  the  only  sympathy  vouchsafed  to 
the  afflicted  doctor,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence. 

"Now,  then,"  whispered  Gamp,  as  they  neared  the  office  o* 
Dr.  Clarence,  "  you  have  had  time  enough  to  make  out  my 
meaning ;  gather  up  your  wits  and  give  some  sharp  hints ; 
but  look  out  what  you  say,  walls  have  ears,  and  you  know 
you're  no  match  for  me  if  anything  comes  out." 

The  door  was  unlocked,  so  they  walked  directly  in. 

"No  one  here,"  said  Higgins,  turning  with  a  somewhat 
relieved  air  to  his  companion. 

"  Just  wait  a  few  minutes  ;  he's  close  by,  or  his  door'd  be 
fast,"  said  Gamp,  stepping  past  half  a  dozen  chairs  to  get  one 
from  the  left  corner  at  the  back  of  the  room.  Casting  3 
sidewise  glance  to  the  right  where  a  fire-screen  interposed 


KATE   WESTON.  379 

between  the  fire  and  the  room,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
young  man  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  head  hanging 
down  as  though  buried  in  a  heavy  slumber.  A  sardonic 
smile  of  satisfaction  gleamed  on  the  rumseller's  face,  as  he 
cautiously  set  down  his  chair  opposite  Higgins,  and  with  an 
expressive  gesture  of  his  forefinger,  indicated  to  that  melan- 
choly gentleman  the  discovery  he  had  made. 

"These  are  the  returns,  as  near  as  I  have  been  able  to 
make  them  out,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  unemphatic  voice, "  but  there 
are  some  hard  cases  that  I  can't  make  out  in  this  county 
clerk  affair;  we'll  let  the  doctor  have  a  look,  I  reckon. 
What  a  vast  majority  he  got  for  senator,  Higgins  ?" 

"Yes,  a  vast  majority  ;•  he's  one  of  the  fortunate  class 
of  human  beings,  although  not  very  persevering  in  business. 
Tread  the  mill  steadily,  sir,  is  my  motto,  and  he  veered  about 
considerable  while  he  was  with  me ;  but  for  us  less  favored 
portions  of  our  race,  there  is  but  one  motto  to  ensure  success. 
Tread  steadily — steadily."  The  poor,  bony,  seedy,  "portion 
of  our  race  "  looked  as  though  he  had  trodden,  trodden  with- 
out stopping,  from  the  first  moment  of  his  existence. 

Gamp  laughed,  and  answered  in  the  same  subdued  tone  he 
had  formerly  used.  "  You  forget  that  some  are  poor,  unlucky 
dogs  at  everything  they  lay  their  hands  to,  and  others 
become  masters  of  everything  within  their  reach.  However, 
according  to  Reid's  story,  the  tables  in  one  quarter,  at  any 
rate,  have  turned  against  the  doctor."  No  change  in  the 
stolid  countenance  of  the  speaker,  but  a  slight  increase  of  the 
moody  shadow  on  his  companion's  forehead. 

"  Why,"  said  Higgins,  confidentially,  with  a  tremor  in  his 
drawl,  "  the  election  hasn't  been  disputed  ?" 

At  this  moment,  a  large  bottle  with  which  Gamp  had  been 
toying,  fell  with  a  crash  upon  the  floor;  there  was  a  little 
start  behind  the  screen,  but  it  might  not  have  been  heard 
by  the  visitors,  for  Gamp  suddenly  let  down  the  three  legs 
of  his  chair  which  had  been  swaying  in  the  air,  saying, 


380  KATE   WESTON. 

"  I  mean  that  affair  about  Miss  Weston.  When  is  Reid  to 
marry  her,  eh  ?" 

Edward,  startled  from  the  sleep  into  which  he  had  fallen 
through  sheer  exhaustion,  was  arrested  in  starting  forward  by 
the  words  he  caught.  His  head  was  aching  severely,  and 
the  intense  excitement  of  the  past  few  days  had  unstrung  his 
nerves.  He  paused  a  moment,  not  because  he  intended  to 
listen,  but  because  he  was  powerless  to  move. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Higgins,  with  an  uneasy  glance 
towards  the  screen.  "  Are  they  to  be  married  ?" 

Gamp  cast  a  threatening  glance  at  his  companion.  He 
was  not  coming  up  to  the  mark  he  had  intended.  Higgins 
cowered  a  little,  and  paled  a  little.  Gamp  continued, 

"Are  they?  you  know  it  as  well  as  I; — perhaps  not,  though, 
for  I  heard  it,  or  what  was  just  as  good,  from  his  own  lips, 
the  other  night." 

Edward  was  rooted  to  the  spot.  His  brain  whirled.  The 
throbbing  of  his  heart  was  almost  audible. 

"  True,"  was  Higgins  answer,  "  I  have  heard  reports  of  the 
kind ;  but  not  being  much  acquainted  with  either  Reid  or 
Miss  Weston,  I  had  acquired  no  certain  knowledge  of  the 
fact." 

"  I  think,"  said  Gamp,  with  a  sneer,  "  the  lady  missed  it 
mightily  in  changing  the  doctor  for  that  little  dandy.  He 
hasn't  much  to  recommend  him  besides  his  money  and  mous- 
tache." 

"  But  money  accomplishes  everything,"  answered  his  com- 
panion, with  a  sigh.  "  I  needn't  have  been  doomed  to  a  life 
of  single  blessedness,  if  I  had  only  been  blest  with  money." 

"  Ha — ha !"  laughed  'the  rumseller,  "  you  would  have  made 
a  comical  bridegroom.  Better  start  now,  just  let  out  what 
scanty  savings  you  have  scraped  together,  and  you  might  cut 
out  Reid  and  the  doctor  both  with  Miss  Weston.  Eh,  Hig- 
gins?" 

Edward  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  out  to  avenge  the 


KATE   WESTON.  381 

profanation  of  a  name  so  sacred,  but  he  suddenly  recollected 
that  he  had  no  further  right  to  guard  its  purity. 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  Higgins,  "  that  Miss  Weston 
would  have  been  the  last  lady  to  be  influenced  by  such  con- 
siderations. I  am  sure  Reid  must  have  used  some  deception 
with  regard  to  his  actual  character." 

"Pooh,  pooh!  who  doesn't  use  deception  in  such  cases?" 
I  don't  believe  Clarence  used  to  inform  her  every  time  he 
went  home  half  seas  over,  or  every  game  of  billiards  he  played 
either." 

Edward  winced  in  his  chair,  but  listened  on. 

"  The  best  of  it  is,"  continued  Gamp,  "  Reid's  an  out-and- 
out  fool,  gambler,  libertine,  everything  mean  by  nature ; 
takes  naturally  to  such  things,  as  a  fish  does  to  the  water ; 
but  the  doctor  plays  or  tipples  occasionally  more  for  the  sake 
of  the  good  it  brings  him,  and  the  jolly  company  he  meets, 
and  here  she's  jilted  him  for  Reid !  But  come,"  he  added, 
rising  hastily,  as  a  quick  motion  behind  the  screen  suggested 
that  they  might  find  some  difficulty  in  pacifying  their  involun- 
tary listener,  "  we  can't  wait  any  longer.  I'll  show  him  these 
hieroglyphics  when  he's  down  to-night." 

Before  the  sentence  was  finished,  they  were  out  at  the  door, 
and  Edward  half-way  across  the  office  after  them.  A  second 
thought,  however,  arrested  him,  for  he  paused  an  instant, 
returned,  and  threw  himself,  with  an  air  of  utter  abandonment, 
back  into  his  seat  by  the  fire. 

He  did  not  believe  that  Kate  was  to  be  the  wife  of  Reid. 
But  the  bare  possibility  crazed  him.  For  her  to  tear  away 
his  life  from  hers,  had  broken  the  tenderest  strings  of  his 
heart.  But  he  felt  that  hers  was  no  common  motive,  nor  her 
standard  of  action  a  common  standard.  That  she  should  so 
soon  forget  their  years  of  mutual  hope  to  cherish  another  love, 
was  harder  still  to  bear.  But  that  Reid  should  be  the  object 
of  that  love,  was  a  maddening  thought.  It  burned  like  a  hot 
iron  into  his  fevered  brain.  It  brewed  into  a  storm  of  hatred 


382  •  KATE   WESTON. 

the  ineffable  scorn  which  the  lisping  lawyer  had  always  in- 
spired. And  she — did  not  know  the  viper  she  was  cherish- 
ing. 

He  sprang  forward,  seized  his  hat,  and  rushed  into  the 
street.  A  few  minutes  later,  his  sister  Mary  was  startled  from 
the  lullaby  she  was  singing  at  her  cradle. 

"  Mary,  is  Reid  on  intimate  terms  with  Kate !"  The  hectic 
face  and  uneven  voice  alarmed  her. 

"No,  Edward!  at  least — I  don't  believe  it.  What  has 
happened  ?  You  are  ill,  brother." 

He  laughed  strangely — so  strangely.  She  was  on  her  feet 
in  an  instant.  "  Edward  " 

"111!"  he  groaned.  "Yes,  dying — burning  up!"  Then 
suddenly  remembering  himself,  when  he  saw  her  look  of 
terror,  he  added,  more  calmly,  "  No,  Mary ;  I'm  well  enough, 
except  in  mind.  Tell  me,  do  you  know  anything  of  Reid 
and— and  Kate  ?" 

"I  have  heard,"  said  his  sister,  hesitatingly,  that  he  has 
been  visiting  there  more  than  his  law  business  with  regard  to 
Mr.  Weston's  property  required,  and  that  he  had  said  " — 

"What  had  he  said?"  asked  Edward,  eagerly,  but  with 
forced  calmness,  as  she  paused  doubtfully. 

"  Why,  that  he  had  boasted  of  her  preference  for  him  ;  but 
I  do  not  believe  it — not  a  single  word  of  it,"  she  added  indig- 
nantly; "the  conceited  puppy!  I  could  see  him  thrashed 
with  a  good  relish ;  talking  as  he  does  about  Kate  !" 

"  How  does  he  talk  about  Kate  ?" 

His  sister  saw  the  gathering  ire  in  his  countenance,  and 
hesitated  again.  "  /  don't  know  exactly,  to  be  sure,"  she  said, 
in  a  quieter  tone,  "  William  heard  him  make  some  foolish 
speeches — when  he  was  half-tipsy,  I  suppose.  My  opinion  is, 
that  he  is  persecuting  her  with  unwelcome  attentions,  and 
that  his  insufferable  vanity  blinds  him  to  the  repugnance  I'm 
sure  she  must  entertain  towards  him." 

"  Where  is  William  ?"  asked  Edward. 


KATE    WESTON.  383 

"  Up  stairs,  in  his  library.  There — he  is  coming  down ; 
hark." 

"William,"  said  his  brother-in-law,  as  Steele  entered, 
"  what  have  you  heard  Reid  say  about  Kate  Weston  ?" 

"  Some  things  that  no  gentleman  would  say  of  a  lady  for 
whom  he  professed  to  entertain  regard,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  by  what  right  does  he  dare  do  this  ?"  cried  Edward. 

"  By  the  right,  he  says,"  answered  Steele,  without  looking 
at  him,  "  of  victory  over  Dr.  Clarence." 

"The  villain!"  exclaimed  Edward,  "if" 

"It  is  your  own  fault,  Edward,"  answered  Steele  again, 
gravely. 

"Yes,  Ned,  I  declare  it's  a  shame"  cried  Mary,  who  had 
dropped  again  into  her  seat  by  the  cradle,  "that  good  for 
nothing  braggadocio  linking  Kate's  name  with  his,  in  that 
clique  of  route,  and  boasting  of  his  conquest,  as  though  he 
had  just  broken  a  colt,  or  was  chuckling  over  some  common 
ballet-dancer.  And  she,  poor  darling,  has  no  father  now ;  so 
I  suppose  she  will  have  to  die  of  vexation,  as  I'm  certain  she 
must,  if  she  keeps  on  growing  so  pale  and  thin  much  longer. 
And  you  are  running  about  here,  winning  honors,  and  making 
all  our  hearts  ache  with  your  neglect  and  the  habits  you  are 
forming.  Father's  almost  as  bad  as  Kate.  I  declare,  his  face 
isn't  rosy  at  all  now ;  his  cheeks  are  growing  hollow  all  the 
time,  and  though  he  doesn't  say  much,  I'm  sure  he  would  a 
great  deal  rather  have  had  you  stay  just  as  you  were  five 
years  ago,  than  to  see  you  what  you  are.  It's  too  bad ;  it's  a 
shame,  Ned ;  and  I  don't  see  where  it's  going  to  end !" 

By  this  time  the  little  lady's  foot  was  swinging  the  cradle 
at  such  a  prodigious  rate,  and  her  voice  had  gathered  so 
much  energy,  that  baby  started  from  its  slumber,  and  totally 
refused  to  be  pacified.  Edward's  figure,  therefore,  escaped  her 
notice,  standing  stiff  against  the  wall,  with  his  hands  clench- 
ing the  back  of  a  chair,  and  every  feature  of  his  face  working 
with  excitement. 


384  KATE   WESTON. 

Ho  stood  so  for  a  few  moments,  then,  turning  to  the  door, 
said  hoarsely,  "  That  is  all,  then,  you  have  to  tell  me." 

The  tone  attracted  their  attention.  "  Where  are  you 
going  ?"  asked  Steele.  Mary  left  her  baby,  and  flew  towards 
him :  "  Edward,  forgive  me  !  How  could  I  be  so  thoughtless, 
and  you  ill,  too  ?" 

"  You  only  said  what  I  thought  myself,  Mary.  I  know  it. 
It's  driving  me  mad.  But  say,  is  that  all  you  know  ?"  He 
had  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door. 

"  That  is  all,  brother.  Stay ;  where  are  you  going  ?"  she 
asked  anxiously. 

"  To  see  about  the  election ;  I  promised  to  go  up  to-night. 
Oh,  that  I  had  left  pleasure — honor — for  ever  untouched !" 

There  was  a  bitter  emphasis  on  the  words  "  pleasure — 
honor,"  and  the  voice  choked  as  he  opened  the  door.  Mary 
clasped  both  hands  around  his  arm,  and  cast  an  appealing 
look  at  her  husband. 

Steele  started  forward.  "  Edward,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "  my 
early  friend — brother,  come  back ;  you  are  not  fit  to  be  out, 
you  are  ill ;  let  me  go  for  you." 

Edward  .paused,  for  Mary's  grasp  detained  him.  "Impos- 
sible, William,  I  have  promised  to  be  there,  and  I  may  hear 
more  about  this  wretched  affair." 

Steele's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  a  flush  crossed  his  face 
that  gave  him  something  of  the  old  boyish  look  of  the  days 
of  the  tall  shirt-collar.  "  Edward,  brother,  it  is  not  too  late  ; 
break  up  your  old  associations ;  leave  pleasure-seekers  and 
honor-seekers;  stand  out  before  the  world  a  freeman;  call 
back  the  smiles  and  sunshine  to  Kate ;  take  the  stoop  out  of 
your  father's  shoulders,  and  make  us  all  happy  again,  as  we 
once  were,  in  you.  You  are  fairly  in  the  whirlpool  "now,  but 
not  so  far  but  a  vigorous  counter-stroke  will  save  you.  Come, 
begin  to-night." 

The  yearning  in  his  tone,  and  the  tears,  mellowed  the  wild 
look  on  Edward's  face,  but  he  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  Not 


KATE    WESTON.  385 

now,  William,  not  now ; — there  is  no  honorable  escape 
now."  Gently,  but  firmly  untwining  Mary's  hands,  he  flew 
down  the  hall  and  steps  without  turning  at  her  tone  of 
entreaty,  "  Brother,  come  back." 

Mary  returned  to  the  cradle,  where  baby,  seemingly  con- 
scious of  some  trouble,  now  lay  quietly  watching  their  move- 
ments. William  walked  up  to  her,  and  put  his  arm  softly 
over  her  shoulders.  She  looked  up ;  both  burst  into  tears ; 
the  manly  eyes  glistening  silently,  and  the  quick  sobs  bursting 
out  unchecked  from  the  impulsive  woman's  heart.  Baby  see- 
ing its  mother  cry,  drew  down  the  corners  of  its  little  mouth, 
and  cast  its  share  of  unconscious  sympathy  into  the  common 
fount  of  sorrow. 

Bitter  as  were  those  tears ;  keen  as  were  the  self-reproaches 
of  a  too  indulgent  father,  that  night  envied  by  the  many, 
pitied  by  the  few ;  painful  as  was  the  struggle  of  a  young 
spirit  laboring  hard  to  bring  her  all  meekly  to  the  Savior's 
feet ;  wild  as  raged  the  tempest  that  was  drifting  away  every 
fragment  of  hope  to  which,  on  life's  rough  ocean,  he — so 
envied  of  the  world,  might  cling : — angrier  would  have  waxed 
the  tempest — fiercer  would  have  grown  the  struggle — keener 
would  have  been  the  self-reproach — bitterer  far  the  tears — 
could  they  have  read  the  record  entered  by  the  sorrowing 
angel,  at  midnight,  when  the  doings  of  that  day  were  sealed 
for  Heaven's  eternal  judgment. 

It  was  after  eight,  when  Edward  reached  the  saloon.  The 
instant  he  appeared  there  was  a  shout  of  welcome,  and  Law- 
yer Flip,  being  a  tall,  muscular  man,  with  a  great  want  of 
professional  dignity,  seized,  and  tossed  him  triumphantly  in 
the  air,  catching  him  dexterously  on  his  descent.  The  feat 
was  followed  by  shouts  and  cheers ;  the  overjoyed  constituents 
crowded  about  their  successful  candidate,  loading  him  with 
congratulations.  He  was  compelled  to  answer  them ;  he  was, 
in  a  measure,  considering  his  former  habits,  and  the  character 


386  KATE    WESTON. 

of  the  company,  compelled  to  drink  wine  with  them,  until 
his  fevered  brain  reeled  again  under  its  subtle  power. 

They  could  not  see  beneath  that  more  than  usually  bril- 
liant exterior,  the  worm  that  was  gnaw;ng  at  his  heart  They 
attributed  to  overflow  of  joy  the  strange  lustre  of  his  eye,  and 
the  ring  of  his  musical  voice.  Old  men  that  night  wondered 
at  his  eloquence ;  young  men  at  his  glorious  beauty ;  not  one 
but  was  proud  to  have  been  partially  instrumental  in  sending 
to  their  State  Senate  one  who  would  so  nobly  represent  their 
interests. 

He  knew  that  but  a  step  was  between  his  burdened  soul 
and  madness.  He  knew  that  his  whole  frame  was  quivering 
beneath  the  influence  of  violent  and  protracted  excitement ; 
that  his  nerves  had  been  unstrung  by  too  free  and  constant 
use  of  wine ;  that  his  spirit  was  staggering  beneath  sorrow, 
remorse,  and  indignation,  that  no  honor  or  success  could 
obliterate.  He  knew  all  this  when  he  entered  the  saloon; 
but  as  the  wine  rendered  fiercer  the  fire  in  his  bosom,  he 
became  oblivious  to  the  fact,  and,  at  length,  wholly  overcome 
by  its  power,  and  his  own  mental  suffering,  abandoned  him- 
self totally  to  its  influence. 

They  had  a  glorious  time  that  night.  Stern  men  unbent 
from  their  dignity,  and  mingled  in  the  general  hilarity. 
Toasts  were  given ;  wit,  anecdote,  repartee,  keen  and  spark- 
ling, flew  around  the  charmed  circle.  Brilliant  lights,  exqui- 
site wines,  exulting  hearts,  threw  about  the  meeting  of  con- 
vivial spirits  every  attraction  that  forms  a  link  in  the  chain  by 
which  such  society  is  girdled. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Gamp  took  advan- 
tage of  an  unoccupied  moment  to  speak  to  Dr.  Clarence. 

"  There  were  a  few  returns  for  county  clerk  which  they  had 
some  difficulty  in  making  out ;  would  Dr.  Clarence  lend  them 
his  assistance  for  a  few  moments  ?"  He  "  knew  it  was  rather 
informal,  but  they  really  needed  it." 


KATE    WESTON.  387 

Edward  descended  to  the  lower  saloon.  Gamp  had  omit- 
ted throwing  it  open  that  evening,  out  of  respect  to  the  com- 
pany above  stairs.  ~  Keid  and  Myers,  however,  with,  two  or 
three  of  their  cronies,  were  cosily  seated  at  a  remote  corner, 
comfortably  partaking  of  an  oyster  supper. 

"  You  see,  doctor,"  said  Myers,  "  we  only  arrived  a  few 
minutes  since,  and  concluded  to  stay  here  for  our  refreshment ; 
out  of  no  disrespect  to  the  honorable,  though,"  with  a  bow 
and  smile. 

"The  gentlemen  above  are  tho  dignified,"  said  Reid, 
jocosely,  "that  we  frolicthome  young  bloodths  feel  hardly 
worthy  of  enjoying  their  thothiety." 

The  young  men  laughed  at  the  exquisite  witticism,  and 
Edward  bent  upon  the  speaker  a  glance  of  the  intensest  scorn. 

As  Gamp  led  the  way  to  his  desk,  he  stopped,  as  though 
accidentally,  beside  the  counter.  "  By  the  way,  doctor,"  he 
said,  turning  towards  him,  "  I  heard  you  speaking,  the  other 
day,  of  purchasing  a  revolver.  I  happened  to  have  half  a 
dozen  that  I  bought  at  auction  some  time  since ;  so  I  brought 
them  down.  I  thought,  perhaps,  some  one  else  would  pur- 
chase." 

"  You  bought  them  at  auction,  eh  ?  Are  they  good  for 
anything  ?"  said  Edward,  taking  one  from  the  owner's  hand 
and  examining  it. 

"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  said  Gamp,  as  Edward's  nervous  finger 
touched  the  trigger ;  "  it  is  loaded.  I  have  tried  them ;  they 
are  in  excellent  order,  and  I  will  sell  them  for  half  the  retail 
price." 

"  Are  they  all  loaded  !" 

"  Yes  sir,  all.  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  like  to  try 
them." 

"  Not  to  night,  I  should  think,"  said  the  young  man,  laying 
it  down.  "  I'll  see  them  again." 

"  Take  it  along,  doctor,  and  try  it  to-morrow.  I'll  warrant 
it's  quality.  Its  no  trouble  to  try  it ;  if  you  do  not  like  it, 


388  KATE    WESTOX. 

return  it.  I  believe  you  have  side-pockets,  sir."  The  very 
blandest  smile,  and  softest  tone  accompanied  the  bow  with 
which  he  again  presented  it,  and  immediately  hurried  on  to 
the  desk,  saying,  "  Excuse  the  detention,  we  will  immediately 
proceed  to  business,  if  you  please,  sir." 

Edward  put  the  revolver  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  him. 
A  heap  of  poorly  written  and  misspelled  names  were  pro- 
duced by  Gamp,  which,  had  there  been  no  presumption  as  to 
the  probability  of  their  having  been  intended  for  one  of  the 
three  candidates  for  the  clerkship  would  have  defied  all  scrut- 
iny. It  was  a  mere  mockery,  Edward's  helping  decipher  the 
names.  The  words  swam  before  his  eyes ;  he  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  what  Gamp  was  saying,  as  he  quietly  assented 
to  his  remarks." 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  Fuller.  E.  R.  Foo-1-e-r,  meant  for  Fuller, 
at  any  rate,"  said  Gamp. 

"  No  doubt  it  is  Fuller,"  said  Edward  mechanically.  He 
was  glancing  at  the  party  in  the  corner. 

"  And  this,"  said  the  other,  "  this  is  so  dreadfully  written 
that  there  is  no  making  it  out ;  first  letter's  a  W,  so  it  must 
be  Wood.  Shall  I  put  it  Wood  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  answer.  Edward  moved  a  little 
uneasily ;  he  thought  he  heard  something  Myers  was  saying. 

"Yes,  yes,  here's  to  Kate  Weston,  and  Keid's  success," 
said  one  of  the  young  men  in  a  subdued  tone,  looking  over 
at  the  desk. 

"  Oh,  they  cannot  hear,"  said  another,  "  where  they  are,  and 
they  are  too  busy  to  notice,  if  they  did."  He  did  not  know 
Avhat  power  sharpened  every  sense  of  the  eager  listener. 

"And  here's  to  the  disappointed  honorable,"  said  Myers, 
who  had  always  felt  a  little  jealous  of  Edward's  superior 
talents.  There  was  a  half-laugh  among  the  dandies. 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,  I  really  do  not  feel  tho  much  elated ; 
I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  marry  Mith  Wethton,  after  all ; 
thucceth  with  ladieth  ith  quite  an  old  thtory ;  I  am  motht 


KATE    WESTON.  389 

tired  of  it.  It  would  Be  quite  a  novelty  to  fail  when  I  ontlie 
commenthe  an  undertaking."  The  important  flourish  of 
dignity  accompanying  his  words  was  irresistibly  suggestive  of 
the  puppy's  crown,  even  to  his  exquisite  friend  Myers,  who 
laughed  as  he  answered. 

"  Never  mind,  Reid,  we'll  make  all  allowances  if  pretty 
Kate  should  jilt  you  after  all ;  you  know  she  has  jilted  our 
young  senator  yonder,  and  after  that,  you  might  consider 
such  an  occurrence  an  honor  to  yourself.  Edward  Clarence, 
you  know,  was  always  our  village  model,  par  excellence." 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  answered  Reid,  adding  to  his 
ridiculous  hauteur  by  erecting  his  head,  and  inserting  his 
thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  vest.  "  If  any  jilting  ith  done, 
it  will  not  be  on  her  thide." 

Myers  laughed  again.  "  I  understand  you,  Reid,  perfectly. 
Do  you  remember  Miranda,  Hamlin's  pretty  danseuse  ?" 

"You  are  very  tharcathtic  to-night,"  said  Reid,  with  an 
offended  air.  "  I  never  cared  a  thtraw  for  her.  What  do 
you  mean,  Myerth  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  his  friend,  "  that  you  had  the 
benefit  of  novelty  there,  and  you  might  find  it  here ;  that  is 
all." 

"  Thir,  I  will  lithten  to  no  thuch  inthinuationth.  You  are 
very  " 

"  Pooh,  joking  is  joking,  and  nothing  more,"  said  Myers, 
tipping  back  his  chair.  "  Everybody  knows  you  are  utterly 
irresistible  to  all  feminine  hearts.  If  I  were  Miss  Weston, 
I  should  fall  in  love  with  you  myself;  'pon  honor  now,  Reid." 

The  remarks  mollified  the  young  man's  anger  extremely. 
He  smoothed  down  his  ruffled  plumage,  and  was  presently 
enjoying  himself  vastly  with  his  companions,  tipped  back  in 
their  chairs,  with  hats  poised  at  the  usual  angle  of  tipsy 
uncertainty,  and  smoke  curling  about  their  heads. 

Gamp  went  on  appealing  in  his  blandest  tones  for  Edward's 
confirmation  of  his  opinions ;  but  for  all  the  assistance  ren- 


390  KATE    WESTON. 

dered  by  his  answers,  he  might  as  well  have  asked  them  of 
the  desk  at  which  they  were  standing.  He  went  on,  however, 
apparently  absorbed  in  his  work,  until  a  motion  was  made  by 
the  young  men  in  the  corner  to  leave.  lie  then  closed  the 
book,  saying,  "  Our  business,  I  believe,  is  completed.  I  think, 
sir,  you  will  like  that  revolver ;  return  it,  if  it  does  not  please 
you." 

Reid,  in  his  half-tipsy  state,  had  been  relating  a  pretended 
account  of  Edward's  "  taking  the  mitten,"  as  he  called  it ; 
they  talked  in  a  low  tone,  but  laughed  immoderately,  and 
Reid,  turning  half-way  round  as  they  started  down  the  saloon, 
said  pompously,  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  Yes,  sirs,  the  lady  ith  an 
arrant  coquette,  but  I  have  conquered  her ;  at  leatht,  I  flatter 
myself." 

"But  you  have  left  no  stone  unturned  to  do  it,"  said 
Myers. 

"  The  he  has,"  whispered  Gamp,  as  though  involun- 
tarily, close  to  Edward's  ear. 

The  glance  of  half-concealed  merriment  with  which  the 
young  men  regarded  him  as  they  passed  to  the  door  was  not 
lost ;  but  it  was  not  that  that  galled  him.  Myers  came  to  settle 
the  bill,  while  the  others  stepped  out  upon  the  piazza.  Reid 
stood  in  the  doorway  talking  to  those  outside.  Edward 
stepped  unsteadily  towards  him. 

"  I  speak  truth,"  said  Reid  to  one  of  his  friends  outside,  as 
though  in  answer  to  something  the  other  had  been  saying. 

"  You  speak  falsehood,  sir,"  cried  Edward,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
with  passion.  "  You  have  uttered  nothing  but  falsehood.  How 
dare  you,  sir,  profane  a  lady's  name  by  taking  it  upon  your 
lips,  in  such  a  place,  and  such  a  connection  ?" 

"  I  wath  not  aware,"  said  Reid,  mockingly,  who  had  taken 
just  wine  enough  to  be  insolent,  "that  you  heard  my 
remarkths,  neither  wath  I  aware  that  you  had  any  further 
right  to  guard  that  lady'th  name  from  the  pollution  of  my 
tongue."  There  was  an  audible  titter  outside. 


KATE   WESTON.  391 

"  I  have  the  right,  sir,  of  a  gentleman  and  a  friend,  neither 
of  -which  you  possess."  He  advanced  two  or  three  steps 
towards  Reid. 

Reid  gave  his  cane  a  little  flourish.  "  The  hon'able  ith 
carried  away  by  hith  jealouthy.  He  forgeth  that  I  am  a 
conthtant  vithitor  of  the  lady  in  quethtion." 

"Persecuting  her  with  your  attention,  and  then  linking 
her  name  with  that  of  a  danseuse." 

"True,  she  hath  been  a  difficult  thubject,  but  I  flatter 
mythelf  that  the  thweet  creature  ith  caught  at  latht." 

"  You  are  a  villain,  sir  !"  shouted  Edward,  seizing  him  by 
the  collar,  and  hurling  him  down  the  steps.  Reid  caught  by 
one  of  the  posts  to  save  himself  from  falling,  and  in  a  moment 
the  sword-cane,  which  he  always  carried,  was  unsheathed. 
Quick  as  thought,  the  revolver  was  held  aloft  in  Edward's 
hand.  The  young  men  on  'the  piazza  sprang  forward  and 
caught  an  arm  of  each.  Edward  shook  them  off  like  grass- 
hoppers. The  next  moment  there  was  a  flash — a  report — and 
Reid  lay  weltering  in  his  blood. 

"  It  was  all  over,  the  deed  of  that  fearful  night.  There 
was  a  rush  from  the  upper  saloon.  Edward  heard  a  confused 
murmur  of  voices,  saw  a  crowd  of  familiar  faces,  with  a 
world  of  terror  in  their  glance,  a  figure  bathed  in  blood — 
Kate's  pale  face  seeming  tp  rise  through  the  outer  darkness. 
Then  the  solemn  stars,  the  bleeding  figure,  the  terror-stricken 
faces,  all  reeled  like  a  horrible  nightmare  before  his  frenzied 
vision,  Alas  !  alas !  that  that  fatal  dream  was  real ! 


392  KATE    WESTON. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

You  might  have  heard  the  rustle  of  a  sparrow's  wing  in 
the  crowded  court-room.  So  intense  was  the  interest  mani- 
fested through  the  whole  course  of  the  trial,  that  it  was 
actually  painful  now,  that  it  had  reached  its  culminating  point 
There  were  many  reasons  why  an  unusual  degree  of  excite- 
ment should  attend  the  whole  proceeding.  The  prisoner's 
family  had  sustained  for  years  an  unexceptionable  position  in 
society.  The  name  of  the  prisoner  himself  had  scarcely  died 
upon  the  lips  of  hundreds  who  had  just  elected  him  to  an 
office  of  honor  and  trust.  It  was  of  no  common  crime  that 
he  was  accused,  for  the  charge  was  of  assault  with  intent  to 
kill.  His  beauty  of  person,  extraordinary  talents,  and  wonder- 
ful precocity  of  intellect  had  been  admired,  nay,  even  gloried 
in,  by  hjs  personal  and  political  friends  all  over  the  country. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  young  man  whose  life  for  months 
had  been  suspended  by  a  thread,  in  consequence  of  the 
assault,  was  the  son  of  an  eminent  judge,  who  had  always 
befriended  the  young  senator.  His  pallid  face,  as  he  was  sup- 
ported to  the  stand  to  give  evidence  against  the  prisoner,  had 
some  influence  in  turning  the  tide  of  sympathy  that  all  along 
floated  with  the  accused. 

Mr.  Jeremiah  was  bending  forward  with  both  hands  clutch- 
ing tightly  the  red  bandana  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  and 
eyes  painfully  straining  at  the  little  door  whose  latch  was 
clinking  the  suspended  doom  of  his  idol-boy.  Mary  was 
bowing  her  head  forward,  trembling  so  that  her  husband  was 
obliged  to  support  her  with  his  firmer  arm.  The  young 
pastor  and  his  wife  were  sending  silent  prayers  to  heaven. 


KATE    WESTON.  393 

Mr.  Pufton  was  winking  his  round  eyes,  unconsciously  elbow- 
ing his  innocent  neighbors,  and  quivering  with  anxiety  from 
head  to  foot.  Rosy,  in  the  back-ground,  was  stifling  great 
sobs  that  heaved  her  broad  bosom  in  spite  of  her  self-control. 
The  prisoner  alone,  pale  and  motionless,  retained  apparent 
calmness  in  that  moment  of  suspense. 

Slowly  those  twelve  men  walked  in,  and  filed  one  by  one 
into  the  jury-box.  Then  followed  a  moment's  pause.  There 
was  a  slight  tremor  even  in  the  judge's  voice,  "  Your  verdict, 
gentlemen  ?" 

"  GUILTY — of  assault  with  intent  to  kill." 

There  was  a  burst  of  feeling  through  the  whole  court,  as 
though  the  straining  chord  of  sympathy  had  suddenly 
snapped  asunder. 

"  Has  the  prisoner  anything  to  say  why  sentence  should  not 
be  passed  upon  him  ?" 

Edward  rose  slowly,  and  stood  a  moment  silent.  When  he 
spoke,  his  voice  was  low,  but  so  distinct  that  it  could  be  heard 
to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Gentlemen,  your  verdict  is  a  just  one.  But  with  regard 
to  the  latter  clause,  in  my  case  you  are  mistaken.  Guilty  I 
have  been,  more  guilty  far  than  those  who  have  enjoyed  fewer 
advantages,  and  less  powerful  incentives  to  all  things  pure  and 
good.  But  I  had  no  more  intent  to  kill  than  any  gentleman 
of  your  number.  My  brain  was  on  fire ;  there  was  indignation, 
frenzy,  violence,  but  not  murder,  in  my  heart.  Your  sentence, 
whatever  it  may  be,  will  be  as  nothing  to  the  agony  of  suspense 
endured  during  the  eight  long  weeks  that  the  man  I  wounded 
lay  lingering  between  life  and  death.  Nor  could  a  total 
acquittal  have  weighed  as  a  feather  in  the  balance,  had  his 
life  been  the  forfeit  of  my  madness. 

"  Still,  your  decision  is  a  just  one.  But  while  you  have  pub- 
licly performed  your  duty,  disgraced,  humiliated  as  I  am,  I 
cannot  neglect  the  performance  of  mine.  Gentlemen,  there  is 
a  wrong  in  our  laws,  a  grievous  wrong.  While  nearly  every 


394  KATK    WESTOX. 

crime  is  committed  under  the  influence  of  ardent  spirits,  no 
restraining  law  prevents  the  temptation  from  being  spread  out 
in  an  infinite  variety  of  forms  before  men  of  all  ages,  tempera- 
ments, and  stations.  Time  was,  when  I  should  have  laughed 
at  the  idea  of  a  law  like  that  which  has  just  passed  the  legis- 
lature of  Maine.  Experience  has  taught  me — how  bitter  the 
experience,  both  to  myself  and  those  I  love,"  here  for  the 
first  time  his  voice  trembled,  "some  here  may  imagine — 
experience  has  taught  me  that  no  temporal  blessing  God 
ever  bestowed  upon  our  country,  not  even  the  liberty  that  is 
its  greatest  pride,  could  equal  the  universal  adoption  of  a  law 
for  the  suppression  of  the  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks. 

"  I  do  solemnly  aver  that  had  I  been  free  from  the  influ- 
ence of  wine,  no  insult  could  have  prompted  me  to  a  deed 
like  that  for  which  I  am  condemned."  For  an  instant  he 
paused  again ;  then  raising  his  head,  as  though  he  had  forgot- 
ten where  he  stood,  his  voice  swelling  in  a  solemn  peal  to  the 
core  of  every  heart  not  altogether  warped  by  passion  or  pre- 
judice. "  Your  Honor,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  there  are 
thousands  through  our  country  pouring  into  our  prisons  and 
poor-houses,  filling  the  murderer's  grave,  and  more  who  are 
destroying  inch  by  inch,  lives  that  they  have  sworn  to  bless. 
The  fault  is  yours.  The  judgment  of  Almighty  God  rests  at 
your  door ;  it  rests  at  the  door  of  every  freeman  who  labors 
not  for  the  total  extermination  of  so  huge  an  evil. 

"  While,  in  my  case,  there  was  greater  sin  than  in  hun- 
dreds of  similar  ones,  you  will  remember  that  to  those  who 
have  never  been  taught  to  eschew  the  evil,  those  who  have 
received  no  Bible  instruction — attended  no  Sabbath-school — 
listened  to  no  faithful  preacher,  the  temptation  is  accom- 
panied by  no  misgiving,  the  indulgence  with  no  remorse. 
These  form  the  great  body  of  our  criminals.  They  are 
tempted  beyond  what  they  are  able  to  bear,  they  fall  because 
they  are  maddened  by  the  poison  with  which  you  see  them 
fed.  You  seize  them,  visit  upon  them  the  heaviest  punish- 


KATE    WESTON.  395 

ments  of  the  law,  and  yet  lift  not  a  finger  to  save  others  from 
the  same  pit  where  they  have  fallen. 

"  Crime  must  be  punished ;  justice  demands  it ;  the  peace 
of  society  requires  it ;  God's  Holy  Word  enjoins  it.  But,  that 
with  your  sanction,  criminals  should  first  be  fostered  in  such 
a  hot-bed  of  passion  as  the  drinking-shop  must  inevitably  be, 
and  then  thrust  forth  like  poisonous  herbs  to  perish  in  our 
prisons  or  on  our  scaffolds,  is  an  injustice  almost  too  vast  for 
belief. 

"  Much  has  been  said  of  the  unconstitutionality  of  such 
a  law.  Upon  that,  I  have  only  this  to  say.  I  do  not 
believe  a  single  person  who  has  no  self-interest  to  serve,  ever 
thought  the  law  unconstitutional ;  nor  do  I  believe  that  any 
one  human  being  who  knows,  and  all  do  know,  that  alcohol 
is  a  poison,  has  not  the  certainty  in  his  heart  that  such  a  law  is 
in  strict  accordance  with  our  constitution.  Excuse  me,  your 
Honor,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  if  L  have  seemed  too 
earnest.  Self-defence  and  conscience  both  prompt  my  words. 
If  I  speak  the  truth,  your  hearts  will  receive  the  truth ;  if  I 
speak  not  truth,  your  hearts  will  reject  the  falsehood.  God 
judge  between  you  and  me." 

There  was  a  hush  like  the  hush  of  midnight  when  Edward 
paused.  Then  the  grave  voice  of  the  judge  broke  upon  the 
stillness.  Few  words  were  said  and  the  sentence,  so  far  as 
duration  was  concerned,  was  lenient.  The  prisoner  was  con- 
ducted from  the  court  to  a  solitary  cell,  there  to  work  out  a 
bitter  repentance  for  the  sinning  past. 

So  perished  ambition  in  that  manly  breast.  So,  in  the 
flush  of  youth  and  genius,  sank  one  of  earth's  bright  stars 
from  the  sky  of  political  life.  Men  sighed,  and  women  wept 
his  fate.  But  there  was  one  young  heart  that  throbbed  for 
him  alone,  pouring  up  from  a  couch  of  suffering  prayers  that 
might  have  called  choicer  blessings  on  the  stricken  head  than 
earth  with  all  its  wealth  could  offer.  Where  the  sunlight 
streamed  across  a  gentle  mother  kneeling  at  the  bed-side 


396  KATE    WESTON.  ' 

of  her  child,  a  stronger  hope-light  poured  in  upon  their 
trusting  souls.  "  Thy  ways,  O  Lord,  are  not  as  our  ways,  nor 
thy  thoughts  as  our  thoughts.  For  as  high  as  the  heavens 
are  above  the  earth,  so  are  thy  ways  above  our  ways,  and  thy 
thoughts  above  our  thoughts." 


CHAPTEE  XXXH. 

THE  morning  after  the  trial  was  over,  William  Steele  was 
sitting  in  his  office,  surrounded  by  newspapers,  manuscripts, 
and  all  the  usual  litter  of  an  editor's  sanctum.  He  heard  a 
step  at  his  side,  and  turned  to  look  at  the  intruder.  A  tall 
young  man,  with -a  fresh,  energetic  expression  of  countenance, 
and  full,  dark  whiskers,  stood  before  him.  He  did  not  speak 
at  first.  Steele  looked  puzzled,  as  though  trying  to  recognize 
the  stranger. 

"  You  do  not  remember  me,  sir?"  said  the  young  man,  at 
the  same  time  dropping  his  shoulders  and  head  forward  in 
a  peculiarly  drooping  position. 

"  Why,  Bill !"  exclaimed  Steele,  starting  up  in  the  utmost 
surprise.  "  Where  have  you  dropped  from  ?  How  you  have 
altered,  to  be  sure.  I  should  never  have  known  you  but 
for  "— 

"  For  my  giving  you  a  glimpse  of  my  old  self,  eh  ?  Yes,  I 
have  altered  some,"  he  continued,  in  a  firm,  bright  tone,  and 
with  a  proud  straightening  of  his  fine  figure.  Nothing  like  a 
free  spirit,  and  plenty  to  do,  sir — nothing." 

"  And  where  are  you  now  ?"  asked  Mr.  Steele,  giving  him 
a  seat. 

"  Up  at  Niagara,  playing  farmer  just  at  present.  But  before 
I  answer  any  questions,  I  want  to  ask  some.  Mr.  Edward  is 
condemned  ?  I'm  too  late  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  397 

"Yes,"  said  Steele  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully,  "he  is 
sentenced  to  nine  months'  imprisonment.  It  has  been  a  ter- 
rible stroke  to  all  of  us.  It  was  so  sudden,  so  unexpected." 

"  And  was  he  to  blame  ?  Could  he  have  attempted  mur- 
der ?  I  will  not  believe  it." 

"  He  was  to  blame,"  said  Steele,  sorrowfully,  "  so  far  as  this. 
He  was  flattered  into  excess  in  drinking  wine  three  years  ago. 
He  did  not  break  the  chain  that  was  binding  him  until  it 
became  too  much  for  his  strength.  He  fell  into  gay,  worldly 
society,  and  became  like  them.  Further  than  this,  he  was 
innocent  as  you  or  I  would  be,  should  we  accidentally  take 
an  overdose  of  morphine,  and  kill  a  man,  while  we  were 
delirious  under  its  influence." 

Tears  started  to  the  open  blue  eyes  of  the  listener.  "  I 
knew  it,  sir,  I  knew  it,  and  I  hurried  on  the  moment  I 
returned  from  England,  to  be  present,  if  possible,  at  the  trial. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  haunted  with  the  suspicion  that  Gamp 
might  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair.  I  hoped  that  something 
I  could  testify  of  him  might  materially  affect  the  case,  but  1 
am  too  late — too  late  !  Had  he  any  hand  in  it,  sir  ?  I  do  not 
mean  openly,  for  that  would  be  totally  foreign  from  his 
nature  ;  but  nothing  that  could  have  been  taken  hold  of  ?" 

Steele  shook  his  head,  but  looked  very  intently  into  the  air 
before  him,  as  though  trying  to  shape  a  vague  something  that 
he  saw  without  a  shape.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said  at  length, 
hesitatingly,  "  it  was  strange,  the  conversation  Edward  over- 
heard, and  the  offering  him  that  revolver  then,  just  then.  Oh 
no,  there  was  nothing  that  could  have  been  adduced  in 
evidence  " — 

A  dark  shadow  crossed  the  listener's  face.  "  He  offered 
him  the  revolver,  eh  ?  Well,  there  was  something,  whether 
it  could  be  adduced  in  evidence  or  not  ?" 

"  You  are  too  late,"  said  Steele,  coming  out  of  the  vague 
mist  in  which  he  seemed  wandering ;  "  besides,  you  could  have 
done  nothing  but  conjecture,  and  that  would  not  have  bene- 


398  KATE    WESTON. 

fited  my  poor  brother  at  all.  Come,  tell  me  about  your- 
self. I  never  saw  a  man  so  changed  in  four  years  in  all  my 
life." 

A  vision  of  the  blushing  face  and  lofty  shirt-collar  flitted 
before  the  visitor's  memory;  he  had  not  changed  alone,  at 
least,  he  thought.  "  Some  men  change  sooner  than  others, 
Mr.  Steele.  I  had  been  so  crushed  all  my  life  before  I  left 
here,  that  no  faculty  was  developed.  So  there  has  been  a 
rapid  unfolding  of  mental  and  physical  life  since  I  saw  you. 
I  verily  believe,  if  it  had  not  been  for  him"  the  tears  started 
to  his  eyes  again,  "  I  should  still  have  been  the  slave  of  that 
man's  hatred." 

"  But  what  have  you  been  doing,  and  how  are  you  pros- 
pering. During  the  last  year  I  have  heard  of  you  through 
Edward,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  so  great  an  alteration." 

So  the  young  man  commenced  with  his  departure  from 
Laconia,  and  told  his  history.  How  he  had  struggled  at  m«st 
with  difficulty,  temptation,  and  fear  of  discovery  by  his  tyrant 
master.  How,  when  the  last  shilling  Edward  had  given  him 
was  gone,  he  had  found  employment  in  a  steam-factory  to 
sweep  the  rooms.  How  he  had  become  interested  in  the 
wonderful  machinery,  and  studied  night  and  morning  when 
he  was  not  at  work,  until  he  had  obtained  a  thorough  mastery 
of  its  mysteries.  Then  he  detailed,  step  by  step,  the  long, 
earnest  ascent  to  the  higher  knowledge  of  the  art ;  the  deve- 
lopment of  inventive  powers  within  him ;  a  new  discovery  for 
which  some  English  manufacturer  had  offered  him  three- 
thousand  dollars.  "  And  now,"  said  he  tremulously,  "  when  I 
was  coming  back,  after  purchasing  a  pleasant  little  home  on 
the  banks  of  the  Niagara  river,  to  pour  out  my  debt  of  gra- 
titude to  those  who,  under  God,  have  been  the  means  of  my 
success,  I  find  the  brave  spirit  that  infused  courage  into 
mine" —  He  stopped,  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

He  had  looked  for  years  to  the  period  of  his  return  as  the 
triumph -moment  of  his  life.  With  the  exception  of  Maggie, 


KATE   WESTON.  399 

there  was  no  being  whose  image  he  had  so  cherished  as  that 
of  Edward. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Both  seemed  wandering  in  spirit 
to  the  cell  where  one  they  had  mutually  loved  was  wearing 
away  in  disgrace  and  loneliness  the  days  of  his  glorious  prime. 
At  length  Steele  spoke. 

"  But  you  have  friends  left  here  still,  to  whom  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  impart  the  news  of  your  success." 

"A  few,"  was  the  answer.  "Yourself,  and  two  or  three 
others.  I  have  ascertained  something  during  my  visit  to 
England,  that  has  opened  light  upon  my  birth  and  parentage. 
I  am  the  only  child  of  Father  Benson's  lost  sou.  My  name 
is  William  Benson." 

Steele  held  up  both  hands  in  astonishment.  "You? 
Father  Benson's  grandchild  ?  He  will  go  beside  himself !" 

"  I  was  told  by  one  of  my  father's  old  shipmates.  He 
recognized  me  by  my  resemblance  to  my  father,  and  proves 
the  fact  by  a  birth-mark  on  my  left  shoulder.  He  described 
Gamp,  too,  so  that  there  was  no  mistaking  him.  But  that  is 
not  all  the  history  ;  there  is  something  mysterious  in  the  fact 
of  Gamp's  having  so  egregiously  deceived  me.  I  never  be- 
lieved him.  exactly ;  but  he  must  have  had  some  powerful 
motive  to  induce  him  to  venture  in  making  a  story  out  of 
whole  cloth  about  my  relation  to  him." 

"  Did  the  man  you  met  seem  to  know  anything  about  your 
father?"  asked  Steele,  with  much  interest. 

"  Well,  he  had  made  two  or  three  voyages  with  him,  and 
he  said  that  my  father,  who  was  second  mate  of  the  vessel, 
always  seemed  quite  independent,  so  far  as  money  was  con- 
cerned. I  have  thought,"  he  continued,  with  a  thoughtful 
air,  "  that  money  might  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  it  all. 
It  would  be  so  like  that  man.  But  that  doesn't  account  alto- 
gether for  his  treatment  of  me." 

"  No,"  said  Steele,  "  if  he  had  been  kind  to  you,  he'd  have 
been  much  safer  from  detection ;  it's  plain  there's  a  mystery 


400  KATE    WESTON. 

somewhere,  but  how  it's  to  be  cleared  is  more  than  I  can  see. 
How  are  you  sure  your  father  was  old  Father  Benson's  son  ?" 

"  This  Ellis,  the  man  who  gave  me  my  information,  had 
heard  the  whole  story  from  his  lips  just  before  his  death — 
the  running  off  to  sea,  the  grief  of  his  parents,  the  habits  of 
intemperance  he  formed,  his  marriage,  reformation,  and  reso- 
lution to  return.  It  seems  he  was  on  his  way  from  China, 
when  the  cholera  broke  out,  and  both  my  mother  and  father 
fell  victims  to  its  ravages.  He  said  that  Gamp,  or  Murphy, 
as  he  then  called  himself,  had  used  every  means  to  worm 
himself  into  my  father's  confidence,  but  he  never  could  guess 
his  motive." 

"  And  your  mother  1  did  he  know  anything  of  her  ?" 

"  Only  that  she  seemed  gentle  and  well-bred,  and  died  some 
time  before  my  father." 

"  And  didn't  you  try  to  get  some  other  clue  through  him  ? 
Some  of  his  comrades  on  the  vessel  at  the  time  might  have 
thrown  more  light  upon  the  subject." 

"  Oh,  I  tried,  of  course ;  but  he  left  the  vessel  when  he 
reached  Liverpool,  and  never  came  across  any  of  them  after- 
wards." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  tell  the  old  gentleman 
of  it?" 

"  Certainly.  It  is  the  least  I  can  do  in  honor  of  my  father, 
to  soothe  the  sorrow  he  caused  the  poor  old  gentleman,  and 
to  be  a  faithful  grandson  to  him.  I  always  liked  him,  and  if 
I  really  look  so  much  like  my  father,  I  don't  fear  any  want  of 
a  cordial  reception  from  him." 

"Well,  well,  strange  things  do  occur  in  our  every-day 
world,"  cried  Steele,  starting  from  his  chair.  "Come  then, 
Bill — no,  Benson  I  must  call  you  now — you  must  go  home 
to  dinner  with  me,  and  then  I'll  go  help  you  open  your  rela- 
tionship with  your  new-found  grandfather.  By  the  way,  did 
you  know  your  old  friend  Maggie  was  teaching  our  village 
school  ?" 


KATE    WESTON.  401 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man,  slightly  coloring. 
"  I  have  never  entirely  ceased  corresponding  with  her  since  I 
left," 

"  I  thought  she  knew  more  about  you  than  any  one  else, 
but  for  a  wonder,  my  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Terry,  kept  her  secret 
from  all  the  rest  of  us,  though  I  am  certain  she  knows  every- 
thing in  Maggie's  heart." 

"  When  I  left,"  said  the  other,  "  Maggie  promised  me  to  let 
no  one  know  anything  about  me,  I  was  in  such  mortal  terror 
of  Gamp  ;  lately,  I  suppose,  she  hardly  thinks  me  worth  tell- 
ing about.  I  haven't  heard  from  her  directly  in  six  months. 
I  suppose  she  has  almost  forgotten  me  by  this  time." 

There  was  a  pause,  filled  up  with  two  or  three  sighs  by  the 
speaker,  and  an  unspoken  surmise  of  Steele  that  such  careful 
silence  in  a  woman  was  an  indication  of  anything  but  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  blush  and 
some  hesitation,  "that — Maggie  was  going  to  be  married." 
He  waited  earnestly,  eagerly,  Steele  thought,  for  an  answer. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,  I  can  assure  you,"  he  answered,  with 
a  meaning  smile.  "  Pooh,  how  could  her  letters  reach  you 
while  you  were  wandering  all  over  England  ?  Come,  we'll 
start  again,  or  we  shall  keep  the  dinner  waiting." 

Maggie  was  the  only  person  who  recognized  her  old  friend 
at  first  sight.  But  somehow  there  was  no  such  outgushing 
of  emotion  as  had  accompanied  the  parting.  Only  a  glisten- 
ing of  the  great  dark  eyes,  more  than  half  hidden  by  the 
drooping  lashes,  a  flush  of  the  noble  face,  and  a  timid  courtesy 
that  was  very  unlike  her  usual  quiet  self-possession.  William 
thought  she  had  altered  very  much  ;  there  had  been  a  charm 
to  him  in  the  childish,  loving  heart,  greater  than  the  beauty 
of  matured  womanhood  could  bestow.  The  classic  head,  with 
its  looped  ringlets,  and  the  lofty  expression  of  the  face,  were 
so  different  from  the  flying  curls,  the  eager  mirth  or  gushing 
sorrow  that  he  had  loved  to  watch  in  childhood.  Her  man- 


402  KATE    WESTOX. 

ner  seemed  so  cold,  almost  repellant,  that  he  hardly  dared 
revert  to  the  past. 

Foolish  Will  1  Was  he  coming  back  so  very  different 
from  his  boyish  self,  with  his  heart  fluttering  so  that  he  could 
hardly  speak  to  her,  and  expect  to  see  her  flying  in  her  little 
check  apron,  and  tossing  curls  to  hang  about  his  neck,  and 
kiss  that  great  black  moustache.  Fy — fy !  for  shame ! 

Quite  a  little  formula  of  preliminaries  had  been  arranged 
for  letting  Father  Benson  into  the  secret  of  William's  relation 
to  himself.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Terry,  Mary  and  her  husband,  and 
Maggie  were  present.  Quite  an  elaborate  explanation  had 
been  prepared  by  Mr.  Terry,  for  there  were  many  apprehen- 
sions lest  the  old  gentleman  should  not  be  able  to  comprehend 
the  peculiar  state  of  affairs.  His  monomania  had  so  grown 
upon  him,  that  although  perfectly  sane  upon  other  points, 
they  hardly  believed  that  he  would  accept  any  other  version 
than  his  own  of  his  lost  boy's  story.  Every  year  he  was 
growing  increasingly  certain  that  his  boy  would  return  in 
three  months,  and  never  omitted  enjoining  upon  all  his  friends 
to  "kill  the  fatted  calf"  the  moment  all  things  came  to  their 
inevitable  happy  issue. 

They  might  as  well  have  spared  themselves  all  trouble  and 
anxiety  upon  the  subject,  for  he  interpreted  the  affair  in  his 
own  fashion,  and  exceedingly  to  his  satisfaction.  They  were 
all  seated  in  the  long  parlor  when  he  ambled  in  as  usual  in 
his  long-skirted  over-coat,  making  his  ordinary  salutation  of 
three  affable  little  bows,  and  decisive  little  thumps.  Mr. 
Jeremiah  strode  up  to  him  with  his  old  cordial  air,  subdued 
of  late  by  sorrow,  flourishing  his  red  bandana  in  one  hand, 
and  his  delighted  little  friend  in  the  other. 

The  old  gentleman  had  always  been  partial  to  a  shaking 
by  his  early  friend.  So  hearty,  so  full  of  brotherhood  was 
each  swing  of  the  grasping  hand,  that  every  titillation  always 
infused  an  extra  sparkle  of  good  humor  into  the  ecstatic  gray 
eyes.  When  the  shaking  was  over,  he  stepped  briskly  to  the 


KATE    WESTON.  403 

table,  deposited  hat,  gloves,  parcel,  and  taking  his  silver- 
headed  cane  proceeded  on  his  accustomed  tour  of  salutation. 
They  were  not  at  all  prepared  for  the  unceremonious  per- 
formance that  followed.  Father  Benson  stopped  at  Mrs.  Terry, 
administered  his  three  bows  and  thumps,  then  at  Mary,  then 
at  Steele,  then  came  plump  before  his  unknown  grandson. 
For  one  moment  he  looked  in  his  face,  uttered  a  wild  cry, 
dropped  his  cane,  fell  upon  his  neck,  and  wept  aloud.  For  a 
full  minute  there  was  not  a  word  spoken.  Then  the  old  man 
dropped  upon  his  knees  right  down  before  his  grandson, 
pouring  forth  incoherent  sobs  and  cries  of  praise.  "  Lord,  I 
bless  thee  for  my  boy,  O  Lord,  I  bless  thee !  Now  lettest 
thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  since  mine  eyes  have  seen 
thy  salvation. — Thy  salvation — 0  Lord  my  God !  I  bless 
thee! — Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul! — Verily,  thy  mercy 
endureth  for  ever!  My  son — my  son!  God  bless  thee,  O 
my  son." 

For  five  minutes  he  knelt  there,  the  young  man's  hands 
clasped  in  his,  pouring  out  broken  cries  of  gratitude  and  joy. 
There  was  not  an  eye  in  the  room  but  overflowed  with  tears, 
and  for  some  time  after  he  had  risen  from  his  knees,  there 
was  no  voice  that  could  trust  itself  to  speak. 

After  a  while,  Mr.  Terry  attempted  an  explanation.  But 
Father  Benson  did  not  understand ;  there  was  no  convincing 
him.  He  would  look  with  a  face  beaming  with  fatherly 
love  upon  the  youth,  and  account  for  everything  himself  that 
did  not  quite  agree  with  his  preconceived  ideas.  Mr.  Terry 
went  on  very  smoothly  until  he  came  to  an  account  of  the 
cholera  breaking  out  on  the  vessel.  He  was  congratulating 
himself  upon  his  success  in  being  so  well  understood,  when 
all  at  once  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  forgotten  all  about 
his  cane,  gave  William  three  tender  little  thumps  upon  his 
shoulder,  saying  compassionately. 

"  And  so  you  lost  your  wife,  Will,  and  your  boy  ?  You 
know  your  poor  mother's  dead.  Oh,  my  boy,  you've  suffered 


404  KATE    WESTON. 

as  well  as  me,  but  the  Lord's  brought  you  home  at  last.  I 
got  the  letter  three  years  ago,  about  your  coming  home,  and 
your  poor  wife  and  all.  Three  years,  everything  goes  by 
threes,"  then,  suddenly  gathering  into  one  concentrated 
thought,  the  anticipated  rapture  of  his  life,  he  gave  his 
grandson  three  more  rapturous  thumps,  and  looked  triumph- 
antly round  upon  the  company.  "  Rejoice  !  for  the  day  of 
rejoicing  is  come;  bring  forth  the  fatted  calf;  let  us  eat  and 
be  merry.  For  this  my  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again ; 
was  lost  and  is  found." 

He  looked  as  though  he  expected  the  fatted  calf  to  make 
its  appearance  immediately  in  honor  of  his  happiness.  A 
meaning  glance  passed  from  William  Benson  around  the 
whole  circle,  and  the  delusion  was  suffered  to  remain  unbroken. 
He  was  never  undeceived,  for  two  ,very  good  reasons,  first 
because  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  make  him  under- 
stand the  truth,  and  second,  because  nobody  wanted  to  make 
him  understand  it. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Jeremiah,  putting  aside  his  own  great 
sorrow,  did,  indeed,  kill  the  fatted  calf,  and  invited  his  aged 
friend  to  come  and  make  merry  over  the  prodigal's  return, 
indulging  him  in  his  request  that  the  dinner  should  be  served 
at  threel  "  because,  you  know,"  he  whispered  mysteriously, 
"  everything  goes  by  threes." 

There  must  have  been  some  mistake  in  William  Benson's 
opinion,  either  of  Maggie  Terry,  or  of  his  own  fancies,  for 
when  the  early  summer  came,  there  was  a  wedding  at  the 
parsonage,  a  wedding  of  two  hearts,  each  rescued  by  care  and 
sympathy  from  a  life  of  wretchedness,  a  death  of  despair. 
Gems,  too,  were  those  hearts,  that  would  have  lain  for  ever 
buried  in  the  rubbish  of  a  sinful  world,  but  for  kindlv  hands 
that  drew  them  forth,  and  polished  them  through  years  of 
watchfulness  and  labor.  There  are  more  such  gems  hidden 
in  the  dark  byways  of  our  world.  Go  thou  and  do  like- 
wise. 


Amid  all  the  hilarity,  none  saw,  within  a  thick  copse  at  the  side  of  the  pleasant 
forest-path,  a  face  peering  out  upon  the  bridal  pair  as  they  passed  its  hiding-place.  A 

ok  that  the  serpent  might  have  worn  while  gazing  on  the  bliss  of  Eden,  distorted  the 
dark  visage,  and  the  squinting  eyes  looked  hatred  out  upon  the  prey  that  had  so 
completely  broken  from  their  charm.  P.  405. 


KATE   WESTON.  405 

It  was  a  gay  bridal  day,  quite  after  the  olden  time.  All 
Maggie's  scholars  came  to  the  picnic  in  the  grove,  directly  after 
the  ceremony,  and  the  path  down  which  the  bridal  party 
passed,  was  strewn  with  summer-flowers.  Father  Benson 
appeared  upon  the  ground  without  his  "  standard  library,"  in 
such  a  tremulous  condition  of  delight,  that  his  long  skirts 
were  in  imminent  danger  of  being  detached  by  every  brier 
with  which  he  came  in  contact.  If  he  had  danced  a  horn- 
pipe, he  could  not  have  made  a  greater  number  of  evolutions, 
or  afforded  more  amusement  to  the  company  than  his 
unbounded  happiness  produced. 

The  fact  of  only  a  little"  over  three  months  having  elapsed 
since  William's  return,  was  one  source  of  unfailing  satisfac- 
tion. "  Three — three — everything  goes  by  threes — you  see 
at  last,  that  everything  goes  by  threes,"  he  whispered  ecstati- 
cally to  Mr.  Jeremiah  in  the  morning,  to  Mr.  Terry  in  the 
afternoon ;  and  when  the  company  came,  and  the  party 
started  out  on  the  rural  excursion,  his  time  was  about  equally 
divided  in  advocating  this  particular  portion  of  his  creed, 
convincing  the  credulous  that  he  could  write  a  first-rate  ser- 
mon, and,  notwithstanding  the  thing  had  once  been  accom- 
plished entirely  to  his  satisfaction,  calling  upon  everybody  he 
met  to  "  kill  the  fatted  calf,  and  make  merry,"  at  the  prodi- 
gal's return. 

Amid  all  the  hilarity,  none  saw,  within  a  thick  copse  at  the 
side  of  the  pleasant  forest-path,  a  face  peeping  out  upon  the 
bridal  pair  as  they  passed  its  hiding-place.  A  look  that  the 
serpent  might  have  worn  while  gazing  on  the  bliss  of  Eden, 
distorted  the  dark  visage, '  and  the  squinting  eyes  looked 
hatred  out  upon  the  prey  that  had  so  completely  broken  from 
their  charm.  And  when,  after  they  had  all  been  ranged 
around  the  bountiful  table,  the  clergyman  raised  his  voice  in 
praise  ;  when,  from  his  distant  concealment,  he  saw  the  once 
jaded,  hopeless,  cringing  victim  of  his  hate,  now  standing  in 
the  strength  of  hopeful  manhood,  with  a  face  lighted  all  over 


406  KATE    WESTOX. 

with  devout  gratitude  to  the  God  who  had  redeemed  him ;  a 
deeper  intensity  of  hate  settled  in  the  fiendish  eyes,  and  a 
curse  unspoken  struggled  in  his  heart. 

But  there  was  another  watcher  there ;  a  fierce,  haggard 
woman,  closely  vailed,  who  looked  from  the  sheltering 
branches  of  a  laurel  upon  them,  as  they  swept  by  with  their 
train  of  laughing  children  and  maidens.  Oh,  the  eager  gaze 
of  those  fiery  eyes,  as  they  drank  in  at  one  glance  the  ecstasy 
of  that  moment.'  There  was  a  depth  of  gratitude  in  that 
scathed  bosom,  that  would  have  prompted  her  to  lay  down 
life  as  a  worthless  reed  for  the  noble  hearts  that  had  saved 
her  child. 

When  the  scene  of  hilarity  was  over,  when  the  grove  lay 
still  and  dark  beneath  the  straggling  stars,  that  ruined 
woman  fell  upon  the  ground  where  the  bride  and  groom  had 
knelt,  kissing  the  trodden  grass,  and  weeping  frantically  from 
excess  of  joy.  Joy ! — joy  like  hers  was  a  lightning  glance, 
shooting  across  a  sky  terrible  .with  storms,  above  a  landscape 
desolate  as  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXIE. 

THE  flower  must  be  crushed  to  shed  its  fragrance.  He 
"  who  doeth  all  things  well,"  had  crushed  the  flower  of  the 
Westons'  home,  that  it  might  scatter  sweetness  over  gardens 
unblest  with  flowers  so  rare. 

Kate  had  been  very  ill.  The  cutting  asunder  of  those 
ties  that  had  so  woven  themselves  into  her  being,  had  left  her 
spirit  faint  and  weary.  We  need  hardly  say  that  the  atten- 
tions of  Reid  had  been  annoying  in  the  extreme,  nor  that 
Edward,  unless  rendered  blind  from  wounded  feeling,  would 
have  stoutly  disbelieved  anything  he  could  have  heard  to  the 


KATE    WESTON.  407 

contrary.  The  suspense  with  which  she  had  awaited  the 
result  of  the  election  had  increased  her  weakness,  and  the 
news  of  Edward's  rash  assault  had  completely  prostrated  her 
in  both  mind  and  body.  Mental  suffering  had  so  preyed 
upon  her  frame,  that  there  seemed,  too  little  strength  to  resist 
any  disease  that  might  threaten  her.  When  an  attack  of 
lung-fever  followed  almost  immediately  upon  Edward's  fall, 
it  seemed  as  though  no  skill  or  care  would  restore  her  health. 
It  was  not  until  after  the  trial  that  she  was  able  to  leave  her 
bed,  and  the  soft  airs  of  spring  were  toying  with  the  flowers 
before  her  cough  gave  way,  and  her  cheek  recovered  some- 
thing of  its  bloom. 

Her  mother  folded  her  to  her  bosom,  as  one  given  back  to 
her  from  the  grave.  Rosy's  yellow  turban  rustled  with  satis- 
faction as  the  light  foot  once  more  sounded  with  some  of  its 
old  elasticity  on  the  kitchen  stairs.  "  De  Lord  be  tanked," 
she  would  say  to  Beccy  Jones,  as  she  watched  the  slender 
figure  glide  away,  "  He's  spared  one  of  his  angels  to  bless  dis 
yer  wicked  world.  My  heart  was  nigh  a  breakin',  all  de 
time  she  lay  dere  so  pale  an'  sperit-like.  Tear'd  she  would 
go  home  to  glory,  and  den  I  tink  ole  Rosy  would  ha'  followed 
arter ;  'pears  Missie  Katie  only  comforter  now.  Lawsakes, 
never  'spected  to  see  her  so  peart  again." 

Rebecca  Jones,  now  a  bright,  handsome  girl,  said  little,  but 
the  sparkle  of  her  eyes  as  she  brought  her  daily  offering  of 
wild  flowers  during  the  invalid's  convalescence,  spoke  elo- 
quently to  the  heart  of  the  young,  untiring  teacher  who  had 
led  her  by  gentle  steps  from  ignorance  and  misery  to  self- 
respect  and  happiness. 

There  was  not  a  morning  during  the  whole  period  of  her 
illness  that  Mr.  Jeremiah's  red  bandana  did  not  make  its 
appearance  before  Mrs.  Weston's  door.  At  first,  during  the 
greatest  danger,  it  only  flirted  nervously  back  and  forth,  before 
the  broad  benevolent  face,  as  a  sort  of  screen,  probably,  to 
its  expression  of  anxiety  and  sorrow ;  afterwards,  when  she 


408  KATE    WESTON. 

was  pronounced  better,  it  ventured  upon  a  subdued  flutter, 
and  when  Kate  herself  first  appeared  at  the  door,  holding 
out  her  white,  thin  hand,  it  actually  burst  into  its  old  flourish 
of  unmixed  delight. 

The  other  members  of  his  family,  too,  to  whom  Kate  had 
long  been  dear  as  one  of  their  own  number,  now  felt  an  addi- 
tional tenderness  towards  her.  Not  one  of  them  but  guessed 
quite  accurately  the  circumstances  of  their  brother's  separa- 
tion from  her,  but  they  could  not  blame  her.  Mary,  indeed, 
with  her  less  lofty  standard  of  duty,  thought  sometimes  that 
mere  fondness  of  company,  and  occasional  excess  were 
scarcely  worth  such  notice  as  they  had  received,  but  the 
impetuous  nature  was  hushed  at  the  sick  couch  of  her  early 
friend.  She  would  leave  her  baby  and  her  household  cares 
to  come  and  relieve  the  mother  for  a  season,  in  watching 
beside  her  child.  She  learned  many  lessons  there  of  faith 
and  patience  that  were  treasured  afterwards  amid  the  petty 
annoyances  of  life,  and  that  future  trial  should  sanctify  to  a 
more  immediate  use. 

At  the  time  of  Maggie's  wedding,  Kate's  strength  was  not 
quite  equal  to  accompanying  them  01  their  excursion  to  the 
grove.  But  they  came  to  see  her  before  they  left,  in  com- 
pany with  Father  Benson,  for  the  home  William's  care  had 
already  provided. 

When  Kate  was  again  able  to  take  her  accustomed  daily 
walk,  she  had  greater  faith,  purer  love,  and  holier  piety  than 
anything  but  trial  can  bestow.  A  fountain  but  charily  play- 
ing before,  now  opened  forth  its  treasures  to  send  new  life 
into  trees  broken  by  the  storm,  and  flowers  withered  with  the 
scorching  heat.  Sorrow  alone  can  teach  the  depth  of  other 
sorrow.  When  Kate  was  able  to  walk  again  in  the  green 
fields,  her  heart  yearned  over  the  suffering  ones  she  had  so 
often  relieved.  They,  too,  to  whom  her  sympathy  was  given, 
felt  the  change  that  had  stolen  over  her.  Before,  they  had 
valued  her  kindness,  but  now,  there  was  a  charm  in  the 


KATE    WESTON.  409 

expression  of  the  gentle  eye — a  something,  they  could  not 
tell  what,  that  made  them  open  out  their  sorrows  to  her  gaze, 
as  though  she  might  be  a  better  part  of  their  very  selves,  to 
feel  with  and  for  them  in  their  suffering. 

"  And  where  art  thou  going  to-day,  my  daughter  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Weston,  looking  over  her  glasses,  as  Kate  entered  in 
her  walking-dress. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  going  to  take  a  long  walk  to-day,"  she 
said,  coaxingly,  "  over  to  see  Kitty  and  the  poor  little  crippled 
girl." 

Her  mother  shook  her  head.  "  Too  far,  I'm  afraid,  child, 
and  without  company." 

"  Don't  say  no,  now,  mother,  for  I  feel  so  strong  to-day,  and 
the  air  is  bracing  ;  it  will  do  me  good." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  go  alone,  child ;  why  didst  thou  not 
find  some  companion  ?" 

"  1  tried,  mother,  but  failed  in  the  attempt.  If  you  were 
only  a  little  younger  now,  I  need  never  go  alone.  What  a 
precious  mother  God  has  given  me."  She  stooped  to  kiss 
the  placid  brow,  shaded  by  its  silver  waves,  and  the  chastened 
light  of  her  sweet  face  seemed  radiant  to  the  mother  as  an 
angel-vision. 

Before  Kate  started, -she  went  down  to  the  bench  by  the 
water-side.  She  went  there  every  morning  now,  to  pray. 
She  gathered  there  fresh  strength  to  "  suffer  and  be  strong." 
She  carried  from  there  faith  and  sympathy  to  impart  to  those 
weaker  than  herself  in  the  strife  of  earth,  and  she  brought 
back  a  heart  soothed  in  soothing  others.  But  this  was  not 
all.  As  Jacob  wrestled  at  Peniel,  so  that  sore  heart  wrestled 
for  him  to  whom  her  love  clung  the  firmer  for  misfortune  and 
disgrace. 

When  she  reached  the  turn  where  Mary  and  herself  had 
paused  on  the  same  mission  many  years  before,  she  turned 
again  into  the  grove,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  grass  to  rest. 
The  majestic  river  flowing  on  in  its  unceasing  tide,  the  moun- 


410  KATE    WESTOX. 

tains,  the  blue  sky,  brought  back  like  a  dream  the  dim  fore- 
bodings of  that  day.  "  Christ  the  Ark."  There  was  no  safeiy 
out  of  that  shelter — she  had  known  it  then — but  she  felt  it 
now.  While  she  mused,  the  hope  swelled  strong  Avithin  her, 
that  at  last,  when  the  terrible  ordeal  was  over,  he  for  whom 
she  hoped,  would  rest  safe  within  that  refuge,  from  the  temp- 
tations of  the  world.  Laboring  not  for  the  treasure  that 
perisheth,  but  for  "  an  inheritance  incorruptible,  undefiled, 
and  that  fadeth  not  away." 

Kate  knew  that  a  vast  change  had  come  over  the  outward 
estate  of  Eben  Jones,  but  she  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the 
sight  that  greeted  her  as  she  approached  his  dwelling.  Broken 
crockery,  rusty  tin,  the  old  cart  and  barrels,  the  lank  cow,  and 
the  forlorn  little  doubtful  baby,  had  given  place  to  shrubs 
and  rose-vines,  neat  flower-beds,  and  narrow  gravel-walks,  all 
enclosed  by  a  pretty  white  fence  that  looked  somewhat  out 
of  keeping  with  the  still  dingy  house. 

A  fat  little  fellow  of  four  years  or  so,  with  roguish  eyes,  and 
very  rosy  cheeks,  sat  on  the  steps  munching  a  huge  piece  of 
bread  and  butter.  When  he  saw  Kate,  his  rosy  cheeks  dimpled, 
but  he  retreated  behind  his  bread  and  butter,  only  venturing 
a  sly  peep  at  her  occasionally  from  his  mischievous  eyes. 
She  did  not  wait  for  an  invitation,  b^it  sat  down  by  him  on 
the  stone,  and  bent  her  face  to  look  into  his. 

"  Here,  you  little  rogue,  so  you  don't  care  anything  about 
me  now  I've  been  away  so  long,  eh  ?  Give  me  a  kiss." 

The  little  boy  peeped  coyly  at  her  from  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  but  when  she  drew  him  upon  her  lap,  he  buried  his  curly 
head  in  her  bosom  with  a  musical  laugh  that  gave  full  assu- 
rance of  his  delight  at  seeing  her.  In  a  few  minutes  the  shy- 
ness wore  off,  and  he  had  such  a  host  of  questions  to  pro- 
pound that  it  quite  puzzled  her  to  answer  them.  "  Where 
had  she  been  so  long  ?  What  was  the  reason  he  couldn't  see 
her  when  he  went  to  see  Beccy  ?  What  made  her  send  him 
such  nice  papers  of  candy  instead  of  bringing  them  herself? 


KATE    WESTON.  411 

Did  she  know  that  he  went  to  Infant  School,  and  knew  every 
one  of  his  letters,  and  could  sing,  '  Children  go — to  and  fro,' 
all  through?  Didn't  she  want  to  see  his  fat  mamma?  That 
father  had  brought  him  such  a  nice,  fat  mamma — and  he 
didn't  be  dirty  any  more — and  she  was  so  good — she  made 
him  a  new  kite  every  morning,  and  gave  him  just  as  much 
bread  and  molasses  as  ever  he  wanted." 

"  No,  she  hadn't  seen  his  mamma  yet ;  not  since  she  was 
his  mamma.  Would  he  take  her  in  to  see  her?" 

"  He  guessed  he  would ;  he  was  sure  she'd  say  that  was  a 
good  mamma ;  she  laughed  so,  and  made  father  laugh  too." 

So  in  they  went.  Kate  sat  down  in  the  front  room.  Her 
little  friend  disappeared  for  a  moment,  and  came  back  pulling 
the  skirt  of  our  old  friend  Biddy,  and  shouting,  "  Here  she 
is !  isn't  she  a  nice  mamma  ?"  The  new  Mrs.  Jones  came 
bearing  down  upon  her  visitor,  with  all  sails  set,  and  a  face 
beaming  like  a  full  moon  within  the  wide  ruffle  of  her  cap. 

"Shure,  an'  it's  happy  I  am  to  say  you,  Miss  Weston. 
Faith,  but  we've  niver  had  a  minute's  pace  wi'  de  young  spal- 
peen for  the  frettin'  afther  Miss  Katie.  An'  ivery  blissed  day 
he'd  beg  his  father  to  fetch  him  over  to  see  her.  An'  how's 
your  health  now,  Miss  Weston  ?  for  you're  afther  being  very 
sick  all  the  winther." 

Kate  looked  at  the  tidy  room,  the  shining  curls  of  her 
little  favorite,  the  bride's  stout,  wholesome  figure,  and  her- 
immaculate  white  apron,  with  more  pleasure  than  she  had 
ever  felt  at  anything  in  that  place  before.  She  was  quite 
weary,  and  reclined  for  nearly  an  hour  in  the  great  Boston 
rocker  that  Mrs.  Biddy  had  drawn  up  to  the  window  for 
her. 

There  was  something  in  the  young  girl's  manner,  that  with- 
out any  direct  questioning,  attracted  the  confidence  of  tho 
poor  and  simple-hearted.  There  was  something  too,  in  the 
good-humored  frankness  with  which  Biddy  recapitulated  her 
many  blessings,  touched  upon  poor  Teddy's  delinquency,  and 


412  KATE    WESTON. 

uttered  cheerful  hopes  for  the  future,  that  was  quite  refresh- 
ing to  her  visitor. 

u  Shure  but  it's  mesel  thinks  he'd  be  afther  lavin'  this  same 
for  the  state  o'  Maine  now,  if  he  jist  had  the  money  to  fitch 
them  there.  Och,  Miss  Katie,"  she  said  earnestly,  flapping 
her  white  ruffles  in  the  eagerness  of  her  feeling,  "  but  didrf  t 
I  know  Ameriky  would  stritch  out  a  helpin'  hand  to  the 
poor,  good-natured  sowls  that  could  niver  help  theirselves. 
Ameriky's  a  glorious  counthry,  but  whin  the  crathur  is 
dhriven  away,  it'll  bate  all  the  counthries  on  the  face  o'  the 
airth !" 

By  and  by,  as  Kate  sat  looking  out  of  the  window,  she 
saw  Michael  Toole  come  running  at  full  speed  up  the  road. 
Mrs.  Biddy  opened  the  door,  and  stood  comfortably  filling  it 
to  await  his  arrival.  Something  must  have  happened,  she 
was  sure,  for  the  ecstasy  of  his  delight  was  such,  that  he  had 
to  topple  off  the  superfluity  in  a  full  half-dozen  somersets 
before  he  reached  the  gate.  "Whisht,  Mike,  an'  will  ye  never 
lave  off  tumbling  till  ye're  tall  as  the  giant  o'  Fincool." 

The  fat,  overgrown  boy  did  not  take  time  to  breathe,  but 
shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  Father's  promised  to  go 
to  Maine,  an'  Mother's  a  cryin',  an'  the  young  ones  is  a'  dancin, 
an'  little  Mary's  a  singin',  an'  there's  such  a  blowin'  around 
that  I  cleared  out  over  here  to  tell  you — so,  Aunt  Biddy,  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  pack  up  an'  go  along ;  you  know  Ebon 
said  he'd  go,  if  you  would,  an'  you'll  go  fast  enough  now — 
the  only  thing  is,  we  got  to  wait  a  while  till  we  scrape  together 
fifteen  dollars  more — Mother's  afraid  Fatherll  get  upsot,  I 
can  see  that  plain  enough ;  an'  I  wish  myself  we  could  start 
.  off  to-morrow — but  I'll  foller  your  advice,  Auntie,  an'  hope 
for  the  best  if"— 

There's  no  knowing  how  long  he  might  have  kept  on,  but 
his  running,  tumbling,  and  talking  had  all  been  like  the  trot- 
ting  of  a  race-horse ;  so  he  was  absolutely  forced  to  bring  up 
a  moment  for  want  of  breath.  His  aunt  caught  the  opportu- 


KATE   WESTON.  413 

nity  of  ushering  him  into  Kate's  presence,  and  going  through 
with  the  ceremony  of  introduction.  He  seemed  to  think  that 
he  must  have  looked  a  little  awkward  coming  up  the  road,  for 
he  blushed  and  stammered,  managing,  however,  to  shoot  off  a 
bow,  bending  his  head,  making  a  tremendous  flourish  with 
his  right  hand,  shuffling  his  right  foot  backwards  until  his 
lower  limbs  were  almost  at  right  angles,  and  then  dexterously 
poising  himself  fair  and  square  upon  both  feet. 

Kate  could  not  help  smiling,  but  she  entered  with  such 
kindly  interest  into  his  plans,  that  he  felt  quite  at  ease  again, 
and  related  over,  with  a  little  less  energy,  the  same  particulars 
he  had  been  detailing  to  his  aunt.  The  two  poor  ignorant 
souls  never  stopped  to  question  for  a  moment  whether  a  Pro- 
hibitory Law  could  be  sustained  on  the  ground  of  constitu- 
tionality, or  to  doubt  that,  once  under  its  sway,  the  veriest 
drunkard  would  find  an  unfailing  refuge  from  his  infirmity. 

"  There's  niver  a  fear  but  Eben  '11  go  along  wid  ye,"  said 
Biddy,  with  her  mellow,  complacent  laugh ;  "  he's  afther  axin' 
me,  yisterday,  if  I'd  be  continted  there.  An'  I  sez  til  him,  sez 
I,  '  Now  I'd  jist  be  continted  intirely,  if  I  could  fitch  along  poor 
Teddy  wid'  me ;  but  shure,  an'  I  could  hardly  have  me  own 
mother's  son  to  go  back  til  his  misery,  an'  maybe  cripple  all 
his  childher  by  and  bye.'  You  see,  Miss  Kate,  Eben's  worried 
about  Jake,  he  be's  so  wild  an'  difficilt  like.  Faith,  an'  I'm 
sure  he  comes  home  half  drunk  ivery  blissed  night  of  his  life." 

"Here  the  rosy-cheeked  little  boy,  who  had  looked  very  much 
interested  ever  since  the  appearance  of  Mike,  interposed,  with, 
"Yes.  Jake  a'nt  good  to  me  a  bit  now;  he  wont  ride  me  pig- 
back  any  more,  nor  let  me  go  to  the  lot  and  chop  wood  with 
him.  Will  he  be  better,  if  he  goes  to  Maine  ?  what  is  going 
to  Maine,  any  way  ?  will  we  buy  oysters  and  candies,  and  have 
a  lot  of  bells  on  the  horse,  and  get  another  fat  mama  ?" 

Biddy's  face  grew  broad  with  delight.  "  Faith,  Miss,  an' 
it's  Christmas  he's  afther  remimberin',  whin  his  father  brought 
him  down  to  New  York  in  the  sleigh,  and  traited  him  til 


414  KATE    WF.STON. 

goodies ;  an'  it  was  that  same  day  we  was  married,  an'  that's 
why  the  rogue's  a  thinkin'  of  another*  mama." 

"  Well,  Ma'am,"  said  Mike,  after  awhile,  "  I  believe  I'll  bid 
you  good  mornin'.  I  was  just  a  mendin'  up  the  fence  a  bit 
for  'em  home,  an'  I  hope  to  see  you  well  another  day."  Hav- 
ing again  executed  a  bow  that  would  have  shuffled  a  less  dex- 
terous tumbler  flat  upon  his  face,  he  started  to  go.  Kate 
called  him  back. 

"  You  can  tell  your  mother,  Michael,  that  I  was  coming 
overdo  see  her  to-day  on  that  very  business,  and  that  I  think 
I  can  help  her  out  of  her  dilemma,  so  that  you  can  all  start 
next  week,  if  you  like." 

The  boy  bowed  again,  and  walked  down  the  road  at  a 
moderately  quick  pace,  but  before  he  was  out  of  sight  he  broke 
into  a  run,  and  Kate  hadn't  the  slightest  doubt  that  he 
repeated  his  somersets,  for  his  mother's  benefit,  as  soon  as  he 
came  within  hailing  distance  of  home. 

As  soon  as  Kate  entered  the  door,  Kitty  Toole  came  out 
into  the  hall  with  streaming  eyes.  "  God  bless  you,  Miss 
Katie,  that  you  niver  forgot  us  through  all  your  long  sickness. 
An'  glad  I  am  til  see  you  comin'  back  like  a  ray  o'  sunshine 
wid  yer  sweet  face  again." 

"  And  how  do  you  all  do,  Kitty  ?"  asked  Kate,  pleasantly, 
following  her  into  the  room. 

"  Saure,  an'  we're  well  now,  an'  happy  afther  our  throubles* 
though  little  Mary  keeps  poorly  yet.  Its  a  sorry  time  she's 
had  of  it  this  eight  weeks  now,  and  it  would  have  been  a  sor- 
rier, barrin'  yerselJ  was  so  careful  sinding  the  new  doctor  over, 
an'  the  nice  quilts  an'  gowns  for  the  poor  child." 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it  now,"  said  Kate,  "  for  you 
know  I  haven't  heard  exactly  how  it  happened." 

"  Well,  the  way  of  it  was  this.  The  childher  heard  their 
father  comin',  an'  they  run  away  til  hide  theirselves ;  he  never 
bate  them  nor  nothing,  but  he's  always  had  a  way  of  jist  catch- 
ing of  thirn  up,  an'  swingin'  'em  round,  or  jumpin'  'em,  till  he 


KATE    WESTOX.  415 

hurt  'em  pretty  bad  sometimes ;  an'  when  he  was  dhrunk, 
there  was  niver  a  haporth  o'  sinse  in  him  to  kape  him  from 
desthroying  thim  intirely.  Little  Mary  was  a'  running  away 
afther  the  others,  but  he  spied  her,  an'  jist  run  afther  her,  an' 
caught  her  up  by  the  arm,  an'  whirled  that  little  thing,  that 
an't  nothing  but  a  baby,  roun'  an'  roun',  till  I  thought  I'd  die 
with  fright  meself.  Then  he  laid  her  down  on  the  floor  :  I 

O 

wint  up  til  her,  an'  shure,  Miss  Katie,  I  thought  she  was  dead. 
I  carried  her  up  in  the  garret,  for  fear  her  father'd  come  afther 
her  again,  an'  laid  her  on  a  bed,  an'  sint  Kitty  straight  for 
Biddy.  It  wasn't  till  she  come,  an'  put  her  in  a  warm  bath, 
an'  rubbed  her  little  body  iver  so  long,  that  she  opened  her 
blue  eyes  at  all,  at  all. 

"  When  the  doctor  came,  he  said  her  shoulther  was  out  of 
joint,  an'  she  was  hurt  otherways  pretty  bad,  an'  we  must 
watch  her  close,  or  maybe  she'd  niver  git  over  it.  The  nixt 
rnornin',  whin  Teddy  woke  up,  an'  come  in  to  see  how  pale 
she  looked,  he  axed  what  was  the  matter.  So  Biddy  jist  up 
an'  tould  him  the  whole  story,  crying  an'  lamenting  all  the 
time.  When  she  got  all  through,  he  jist  dropped  right  down 
into  a  chair  fornenst  the  bed,  an'  begun  crying  without  spak- 
ing  a  word.  Shure,  Miss  Katie,  an'  he's  niver  dhrank  a  single 
dhrap  afther  that  day,  an'  he  sez  he  niver  will ;  but  I'm  afraid 
he  can't  kape  his  word.  Och,  an'  its  thrimbling  I  am  ivery 
day,  now  the  little  hinny's  so  much  betther,  for  fear  he'll  begin 
again;  an'  thin — "  she  shook  her  head,  and  the  tears  ran 
down  her  face. 

"  Never  fear,  Kitty,"  said  Kate,  in  a  cheerful  tone.  "  If  you 
think  Teddy  would  go  to  Maine,  I  know  of  those  who  will 
help  you  along  so  that  you  may  go  next  week,  if  you  like.  I 
suppose  you  haven't  much  here  to  hinder  you." 

Kitty  glanced  around  the  meagrely  furnished  room.  "  Och, 
ivery  thing  we  have,  house,  an'  land,  an'  tables,  even  till  the 
big  feather  bed  I  brought  from  York,  is  pledged  for  rum.  But 
I  haven't  a  bit  fear,  but  if  Teddy's  oncet  away  from  the  crathur, 
he'll  niver  see  one  of  us  wantin'  bread.  God  bless  his  sowl, 


416  KATE    WESTON. 

but  he's  been  like  a  lovin'  mother  iver  since  little  Mary  was 
sick ;  it  was  nigh  breakin'  my  heart  to  think  such  a  father'd 
iver  be  like  to  take  to  the  dhrink  again.  Faith,  Miss  Katie  " 
(here  she  clasped  her  hands  and  stretched  them  out,  in  her 
earnestness),  "  an'  I'd  be  thankful  to  go  away  wid  jist  enough 
to  cover  us,  an'  not  a  morsel  to  ate,  nor  a  penny  o'  money,  if 
I  was  shure  Teddy'd  be  safe  out  o'  the  way  of  that  dhreadful 
crathur,  an'  I'd  niver  have  a  bit  fear  for  meself  or  the  childher, 
but  he'd  take  care  of  us  all." 

.  "  Very  well,  Kitty,  don't  have  a  bit  of  fear,  then.  I  know 
a  Maine  gentleman  who  can  advise  you  where  to  go,  and  if 
you  have  Biddy  along,  you  and  she  can  keep  your  husband 
sober  till  you  arrive.  Tell  me,  how  did  you  manage  while 
the  little  one  was  ill  ?  for  I  suppose  you  had  to  give  up  your 
washing,  and  Teddy  had  no  work." 

"  Teddy  stayed  an'  minded  Mary  an'  the  other  childher,  an'  I 
got  more  time  nor  I  had  in  a  long  while  before.  An'  what 
wid  yerself,  an'  Mike,  an'  Biddy,  an'  the  doctor,  we  was  very 
comfortable.  The  new  doctor's  a  nice  man,  but  he  isn't  like 
Dr.  Clarence.  An'  wasn't  it  hisself  that  niver  refused  to  come 
til  me  in  the  darkest  night,  when  any  of  us  were  sick,  no 
more'n  we  were  the  grandest  people  in  all  Laconia,  an'  would 
niver  take  a  penny  of  me  since  iver  he  begun.  Och,  it  was 
a  mane  shame  to  say  he  was  afther  wanting  to  mUrdher. 
Didn't  he  say  hisself  that  there  was  niver  such  a  thought  in 
his  sowl,  an'  sure  I'd  belave  him  fast  as  the  Blessed  Virgin 
herself." 

Poor  Kitty  had  touched  a  tender  chord  roughly  in  her 
ignorance,  and  it  vibrated  painfully.  It  was  almost  too  much 
for  Kate.  She  turned  her  head  to  look  out  at  the  window,  and 
struggled  to  regain  her  self-possession.  It  was  well  for  her 
that  at  that  moment  the  back  door  opened,  and  Teddy 
entered,  carrying  Mary  tenderly  in  his  arms,  with  the  whole 
troop  of  children  following  at  his  heels,  and  Michael  bring- 
ing up  the  rear. 

It  was  a  pitiful  sight,  that  small,  pale,  crippled  girl,  scarcely 


KATE    WESTON.  417 

four  years  old,  sitting  so  quiet  in  the  little  chair,  where  he 
carefully  placed  her.  Kate  had  not  expected  to  see  her  so 
much  altered,  and  she  was  shocked  to  think  that  the  little 
creature  mast  be  deformed  for  life.  But  if  the  curse  had 
fallen,  a  blessing  had  come  with  it.  Only  the  deathly  hue  of 
that  small  face  as  it  looked  deprecatingly  to  his,  could  have 
had  sufficient  power  to  draw  the  repentant  father  from  his 
haunts  of  evil. 

The  father  did  not  stay  except  to  thank  Kate  for  her  kind- 
ness to  them,  and  ask  his  wife  to  give  Mary  something  to  eat. 
As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Kitty  apologized : 

"  He  feels  ashamed  like,  because  he  thinks  you're  -afther 
axin  me  about  it.  Mike's  Tiome  again,  an'  it's  glad  I  am, 
shure.  Hisself  was  one  of  my  greatest  comforts  in  all  my 
throuble.  He  brought  me  his  wages  ivery  Saturday,  an'  I 
don't  know  what  I  could  have  done  widout  them,  at  all,  at  all." 
As  she  concluded,  she  cast  a  glance  of  motherly  admiration  on 
the  awkward,  overgrown  boy,  who  stood  laughing  and  twist- 
ing his  thumbs. 

"  I  know,"  said  Kate,  with  one  of  her  sweet  smiles,  "  that 
Michael  is  a  faithful  son,  and  an  honest  boy.  I  always  had  a 
high  opinion  of  him,  his  conduct  has  been  so  manly  and  kind 
to  his  mother  and  the  children." 

Mike  blushed,  and  not  knowing  how  else  to  acknowledge 
the  compliment,  shoved  off  another  of  his  astonishing  bows. 
Kate  relieved  his  evident  embarrassment  by  speaking  to  the 
younger  children,  taking  poor  little  Mary  on  her  lap,  and 
drawing  out  the  story  of  her  sickness.  How  she  did  not 
know  at  first  what  it  could  be ;  how  she  had  felt  so  bad  and 
sick ;  how  she  wasn't  afraid  of  father  any  more ;  how  she 
liked  to  be  sick,  so  she  needn't  have  to  run  away  and  hide, 
and  so  ho  would  carry  her  in  his  arms  away  out  into  the 
woods  to  get  flowers,  and  have  Johnny  along,  and  Patrick, 
and  Mag,  and  Biddy.  The  little  pale  face  softened  into  a 
smile,  as  she  saw  Kate's  look  of  interest.  Still,  the  young 

18* 


418  KATE    WESTOX. 

girl  could  not  not  help  thinking  it  very  pitiful  that  that 
mere  baby  should  be  made  a  cripple,  and  by  a  father's 
hand. 

In  less  than  three  weeks  the  two  families,  with  the  help  of 
Mrs.  Weston  and  Mr.  Jeremiah,  were  on  their  way  to  Maine, 
and  Kate  had  the  satisfaction  afterwards  of  hearing  from  time 
to  time,  through  Rebecca  Jones,  who  had  positively  refused 
to  leave  her,  that  Teddy  was  at  last  thoroughly  reformed,  and 
rejoicing  very  much  that  he  lacked  the  power  of  returning  to 
his  former  evil  habits.  That  the  little  cripple  improved  in 
health  so  rapidly,  that  they  hoped  she  might  recover  alto- 
gether, except  that  the  deformed  shoulder  was  very  weak. 
That  the  nice,  fat  mamma  grew  nicer  and  fatter  every  day,  now 
that  all  her  worry  was  over.  That  Mrs.  Kitty  came  to  be 
quite  a  notable  housekeeper  again,  and  at  the  last  accounts 
had  a  new  rag-carpet  on  her  parlor-floor.  That  Jake  was 
steady  now,  and  Eben  Jones  one  of  the  happiest  men  alive. 
That  Mike  hadn't  left  off  turning  somersets,  and  that  the 
whole  tribe  of  Tooles  and  Joneses,  particularly  the  rosy- 
cheeked  Charlie,  the  doubtful  baby  of  years  gone  by,  were 
thriving  like  a  lot  of  "  splindid  cabbage  roses." 

There  were  many  families  in  Laconia  to  whom  Kate's 
ministrations  came  as  dew  to  the  thirsty  flower.  Widow 
Brown,  worn  and  wasted  almost  to  the  grave,  poured  into 
her  ears  the  tale  of  her  sufferings,  and  felt  always  stronger 
after  she  had  listened  to  her  words  of  sympathy,  and  joined 
in  her  earnest  prayer.  Yes,  with  the  weary  and  suffering, 
the  young  girl  could  kneel  and  pray  in  a  strain  that  accorded 
better  with  their  feelings  than  the  petition  of  their  pastor. 
They  knew  that  her  prayer  was  prompted  by  love  and  sym- 
pathy, the  low  musical  voice  floated  so  earnestly  upwards ; 
the  broken  voice,  the  starting  tear  soothed  their  anguish, 
more  than  eloquence  of  words,  or  wealth  of  charity. 

God  bless  thee,  Kate !     It  seems  strange  that  hearts  like 

'  O 

thine  must  suffer.      But  the  purer  the  diamond,  the  higher 


KATE    WESTON.  419 

must  be  the  polish,  and  God  was  polishing  away  the  crust  of 
earth  to  make  thee  one  of  th.e  fairest  jewels  in  his  crown  of 
glory. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

EXTRACT   from  a  letter  written  by  Edward  to  William 

Steele  :— 

"  The  light  dawns  at  last.  The  trial  has  been  severe,  but  nothing 
less  could  have  reclaimed  me.  As  I  look  back  to  seasons  when  I 
resolved  and  re-resolved  to  give  up  the  dangerous  society  with  which 
I  was  mingling,  and  the  dangerous  habits  which  I  was  forming,  I  can 
plainly  see  how  it  came  that  all  my  efforts  were  of  no  avail.  Trust- 
ing to  my  own  strength,  every  renewed  resolve,  like  a  foot  planted 
on  the  quick-sands,  slipped  away  with  the  first  wave  of  tempta- 
tion. 

"  First,  on  my  coming  here,  came  the  bitterest  portion  of  my  cup. 
Ml  the  life-hopes  I  had  cherished  dashed  at  once  and  forever.  Am- 
bition struggling  with  Despair.  My  family  disgraced,  my  reputation 
gone  for  ever,  and  happiness,  holier  and  deeper  than  any  honor 
could  bestow,  irremediably  lost.  Then  came  the  questioning  of  a 
rebellious  heart.  Why  must  this  be  ?  Murmurs  at  a  decree  so  ter- 
rible ;  fierce  temptation  (I  must  acknowledge  it)  to  destroy  a  life 
divested  of  every  charm.  Then  I  went  back  in  memory  to  the  days 
of  my  early  religious  instruction.  I  heard  my  father's  clear,  full, 
voice  in  the  prayer  he  was  offering  for  me.  I  saw  a  vision  of  one 
sweet  face,  that  I  shall  never  have  courage  to  look  upon  again,  as  it 
has  haunted  me  through  these  past  years  of  folly. 

"  Do  you  remember,  William,  that  maiden  speech  of  mine.  That 
night  I  first  knew  the  glory  of  her  character.  .  Her  face  was  saint-like 
in  its  purity  as  she  plead  with  me  to  relinquish  the  habits  that  have, 
been  my  ruin.  And  I  promised  her  solemnly  as  we  stood  together 
in  the  moonlight  that  I  would  never  again  give  her  occasion  to  fear 
for  me.  Oh,  what  infatuation  has  separated  us  by  a  barrier  strong 
as  death?  This  subject  is  too  painful.  I  cannot  dwell  upon  it. 


420  KATE    WESTOX. 

"  At  last,  slowly,  and  with  many  struggles  I  have  found  the  cross. 
I  thought  when  I  came  here  that  pride  was  humbled.  But  I  see  now 
that  pride  hindered  me  from  opening  my  heart  to  our  pious  chaplain 
until  his  benevolent  soul  drew  me  almost  imperceptibly  into  a  confes- 
sion of  ray  feelings.  I  have  learned  at  last,  that,  though  all  worldly 
sources  of  preferment  and  happiness  are  closed  to  one  humbled  as  I 
have  been,  a  work  is  still  mine  to  perform,  a  victory  to  be  won, 
whose  reward  shall  not  be  in  this  life.  Had  I  learned  the  lesson,  as  I 
could  have  done,  years  ago,  I  might  have  labored,  with  gentle  hands 
and  a  heart  whose  worth  I  can  hardly  measure,  to  strengthen  and 
sustain  me.  Now,  I  must  toil  and  suffer  alone.  Alone !  no,  that  I 
could  not  do.  He  is  my  helper  who  has  redeemed  me  by  his  blood 
from  everlasting  death.  My  heart  swells  with  gratitude,  that  even 
through  such  an  ordeal  He  has  led  me  to  Himself.  Yet,  the  soul  that 
dwells  on  earth  yearns  for  the  love  of  earth,  amid  all  its  aspirations 
for  the  love  of  Heaven. 

"  God  bless  you  all,  and  grant  in  mercy  that  I  may  be  the  only  great 
sufferer  for  my  sins.  In  a  week  I  shall  be  free.  You  and  father  must 
come  on  to  see  me.  I  cannot  return  to  Laconia,  I  have  not  courage. 


"  It's  of  no  use  father,"  said  Edward,  as  they  sat  together  in 
Mr.  Pufton's  parlor,  two  or  three  days  after  his  release. 
"  There  are  too  many  reasons  why  I  should  not  return.  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  continually  casting  the  stigma  of  my  disgrace 
over  my  family.  My  power  to  do  good  would  be  there 
extremely  limited  after  what  has  occurred.  I  should  natu- 
rally be  continually  reminded  of  my  sin  by  the  conduct  of 
Reid  and  his  clique  of  associates.  But  more  than  all,  I 
could  not  meet  Kate  Weston,  feeling  that  I  had  ruined  her 
happiness,  and  that  she  could  never  love  me  more." 

The  red  bandanna  fluttered  nervously,  and  the  great,  sono- 
rous voice  trembled.  "Edward,  my  son,  you  are  mistaken, 
not  one  of  us  but  longs  to  have  you  back  ;  and  Kate — I  do 
not  believe  your  sin  and  suffering  have  made  any  difference  in 
her  feelino-s." 

O 

"  But  you  do  not  imagine  for  a  moment,  that  I  would  offer 
her  to  share  my  name  and  position,  father !" 


KATE    WESTOX. 


"  Pooh-pooh,  ray  boy  ;  she  would  not  share  it  when  it  was 
likely  to  place  her  among  the  first  circles  in  the  country. 
You  know  her  reasons,  and  how  little  weight  the  considera- 
tion of  your  outward  condition  had  then  ;  why  should  it  not 
have  just  as  little  now  ?" 

Edward  paused  a  moment,  and  shook  his  head.  "  No, 
father,  it  cannot  be.  Her  generous  nature  might  lead  her  to 
make  such  a  sacrifice  for  my  sake,  but  I  do  not  ask  it.  I 
shall  carry  out  my  original  intention  of  going  to  visit  Wil- 
liam Benson,  for  I  have  important  information  connected  with 
his  history  to  impart  to  him.  After  that,  I  shall  return  to 
New  York,  and  then,  I  think,  leave  for  California.  I  am  sure 
if  you  set  aside,  as  I  have  done,  all  prejudice  upon  the  subject, 
your  judgment  will  approve  my  plan." 

"  What's  that,  my  boy  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pufton,  who  had 
just  entered,  "  California,  sir  ?  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  —  111 
never  consent  to  it,  never,  sir  —  all  stuff  ;  that  nonsense  about 
Kate,  sir.  She's  got  the  truest  heart  that  ever  beat,  sir  ;  and 
if  you  don't  go  right  down  on  your  knees,  sir,  and  beg  her 
pardon  for  doubting  it,  sir,  you  don't  deserve  her,  sir  !"  He 
folded  his  hands  behind  him,  and  strutted  indignantly  about 
the  room. 

"  I  would  not  take  advantage  of  it,"  said  Edward,  sadly, 
"  to  wed  her  to  a  life  like  mine." 

"  Fiddlesticks,  sir,  —  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  you  put  me  out 
of  patience,  sir.  She'll  never  be  happy  any  other  way,  sir. 
Go  on  your  northern  tour  if  you  like,  sir,  but  when  you  come 
back,  sir"  —  The  round  gentleman  bobbed  his  head  and 
winked  his  eyes  by  way  of  explanation,  and  Mr.  Jeremiah's 
handkerchief  gave  a  little  hopeful  wave  on  the  strength  of 
his  faith  in  Mr.  Pufton's  power. 

Alice  had  been  paying  Kate  a  visit  of  some  length,  and  on 
her  return  would  listen  to  no  reasons  why  her  darling  should 
not  accompany  her.  After  much  persuasion,  in  which  she 
had  coaxed  Mrs.  Weston's  co-operation,  she  succeeded  in  car- 
rying off  her  friend  in  triumph,  and  her  tongue  rattled  with 


422  KATE    WESTOX. 

satisfaction  all  the  way  from  Laconia  to  New  York.  Her 
husband  was  half-jealous,  for  she  persisted  in  making  twice  as 
much  of  Kate's  compliance  with  her  wishes  as  she  did  of 
meeting  him  after  their  separation. 

It  had  been  Kate's  intention  to  return  previous  to  the  day 
of  Edward's  release.  There  was  a  greater  self-control  requi- 
site than  she  felt  herself  capable  of  exercising  in  meeting 
him,  or  even  spending  the  day  of  his  liberation  away  from 
the  only  being  that  thoroughly  sympathized  in  her  feelings. 
But  a  sudden  and  dangerous  change  having  occurred  in  the 
character  of  Clarence's  illness,  she  had  waived,  with  her  usual 
self-denial,  all  personal  feeling,  and  consented  to  remain  with 
Mrs.  Ainslie  for  a  few  days  longer. 

The  excessively  nervous  temperament  of  Alice  prevented 
her  from  being  an  appropriate  companion  in  her  mother's 
arduous  duties  at  the  sick-bed  of  her  brother.  There  was  a 
subtle  magnetism  of  spirit,  too,  between  Mrs.  Ainslie  and  the 
daughter  of  her  early  schoolmate,  experienced  only  by  those 
who  have  suffered  and  found  consolation  from  the  common 
fountain  of  a  Savior's  love.  It  was  for  this  that  the  weary 
mother  appealed  so  earnestly  for  Kate's  presence  and  sym- 
pathy in  this  crowning  hour  of  her  trial. 

For  two  or  three  weeks  Clarence  had  been  confined  to  his 
bed.  The  convulsions,  which,  previous  .to  that,  had  been 
unusually  violent,  had  ceased  altogether,  leaving  him  weak 
and  helpless  as  a  child.  His  craving  for  the  stimulants  that 
before  had  seemed  almost  necessary  to  his  existence,  was  gone, 
and  he  would  lie  for  hours  in  an  apparent  stupor. 

More  than  ever  that  mother's  heart  yearned  above  her 
child.  As  she  watched  for  hours  beside  him  during  the  inter- 
val of  dreadful  calmness  that  preceded  his  death,  her  soul 
was  wrestling  constantly  in  prayer.  And  when,  for  a  time, 
the  invalid  appeared  able  to  listen  to  her,  she  spoke  gently  to 
him  of  Jesus,  or  read  the  story  of  some  portion  of  His  suffer- 
ings Who  "  hath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our  sorrows." 

How  her  heart  leaped  one  day,  after  he  had  been  lying  for 


•          KATE    WESTON.  423 

an  hour,  motionless  as  a  statue,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
workings  of  the  soul  beating  under  that  lifeless  exterior. 

"Mother,"  he  said  softly,  without  moving. 

"  Well,  my  son  ?"  she  bent  to  listen. 

"  Shall  morning  ever  break  for  me  ?" 

" There  is  light,  Clarence,  if  you  will  only  look  at  it" 

He  extended  his  hands  with  a  sigh  as  though  groping  for 
it.  "I  cannot  see  it.  The  night  is  very  dark,  just  now." 

Mrs.  Ainslie  looked  into  his  face  with  some  alarm.  "Why, 
my  child,  are  you  worse  ?" 

"  Only  thinking,  mother,  how  you  have  been  so  patient 
with  me,  all  these  long  years  of  darkness,  and  how  I  might 
have  found  light  long  ago,  if  I  had  listened  to  you.  That 
makes  it  darker  now." 

"  The  darkest  night  is  just  before  the  morning,"  whispered 
the  mother. 

He  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "My  sin  has  been  so 
great;  against  you,  mother,  and  God,  and  all  I  love.  I  believe 
I  have  almost  worn  you  out.  My  gentle  mother !"  He  put 
his  hands  on  her  thin  face,  and  burst  into  tears. 

She  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  calming  her  own  feelings, 
said  gently,  "  Clarence,  be  quiet,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  you 
may  make  me  glad  that  you  have  suffered,  and  made  me 
suffer." 

"  How,  mother  ?" 

"  By  letting  your  suffering  bring  you  to  Jesus." 

"  That  is  what  I  have  been  thinking  over  during  all  this 
last  illness,  but  I  can't,  mother.  I  cannot" 

"  Why,  my  son  I" 

"  I  have  rejected  him  so  long,  that  he  does  not  hear  me 
now.  I  have  been  so  violent  and  wicked,  that  I  am  in  des- 
pair. Once  there  seemed  a  glimmer  of  lightsbut  all  is  dark 
again  now." 

"  Whosoever  cometh  unto  me,  [  will  in  no  wise  cast  out," 
whispered  his  mother,  with  a  strange  feeling  thrilling  at  her 
heart. 


424  KATE   WESTON.   . 

"  But  I  cannot"  come,  Mother !  Oh,  if  I  could  come !" 
He  was  becoming  too  much  excited.  Long  experience  had 
taught  her  the  danger  of  the  least  mental  over-exertion,  and 
she  had  learned  to  be  very  calm  under  the  greatest  press  of 
feeling.  So  she  said  soothingly,  "  There,  Clarence,  you  must 
lie  still  now,  for  a  while,  and  I  will  sing  to  you.  Let  me 
raise  your  head  a  little."  She  adjusted  his  pillows,  and  sat 
down  close  beside  him. 

Mi-s.  Ainslie's  voice  was  peculiarly  swee.t.  To  Clarence,  in 
his  most  violent  moments,  there  had  always  been  a  soothing 
influence  in  its  soft  music  that  nothing  else  could  supply. 
She  was  singing  now  the  hymn, 

"  Come  ye  sinners — poor  and  needy, 
Come  in  mercy's  gracious  hour ; 
Jesus  ready  stands  to  save  you, 
Full  of  pity,  love,  and  power. 
He  is  willing — He  is  willing — 
He  is  able— Doubt  no  more." 

An  eager  look  on  the  pale  face  of  the  invalid  showed  that 
he  drank  in  the  meaning  of  her  words.  He  closed  his  sight- 
less eyes,  that  had  never  lost  their  beauty,  and  opened  them 
again  earnestly,  as  though  looking  for  the  light. 

She  sang  again, — 

"  Come  ye  weary — heavy-laden, 
Bruised  and  wounded  by  the  fall, 
Mercy's  touch  alone  can  heal  you,— 
Jesus  bled  and  died  for  all. 
Not  the  righteous — Not  the  righteous, 
Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call." 

• 
When  she  had  finished  the  hymn,  she  went  up  to  him 

again.  He  lay  .quiet,  with  his  eyes  closed,  as  though  asleep. 
Kate  entered  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Ainslie  motioned  her  to 
watch  a  little  while  beside  the  invalid,  then  went  to  her  own 
room,  and  knelt  where  she  had  so  often  knelt,  to  pour  her 
soul  in  prayer. 


KATE    WESTON.  425 

While  she  bowed  there,  praying  for  light  to  beam  at  last 
upon  the  darkened  vision  of  her  child,  he  lay,  listening  to  the 
Spirit  that  struggled  with  his  soul.  Going  backwards  over 
his  years  of  violence  and  pain  to  the  days  when  he  knelt  at 
his  mother's  side,  and  spoke  his  evening  prayer ;  when  her 
loving  eyes  beamed  upon  him  as  she  told  some  simple  story, 
or  read  some  childish  lesson.  Then  he  wondered  if  her  soft 
eyes  had  altered  any  during  the  period  of  suffering  he  had 
brought  upon  her ;  then  came  back  with  tenfold  force  the 
terrible  self-reproach.  "  How  have  I  wounded  her  with  my 
passion,  and  how  much  more  with  my  scorn  for  the  lessons 
of  meekness  and  holiness  she  has  patiently  read  from  the 
Holy  Bible !  And  now  the  days  of  my  struggles  are  ending ; 
when  I  might  have  found  the  light,  I  turned  to  the  darkness 
of  my  sinful  heart,  and  now — the  shadows  of  life  are  changing 
for  darker  shadows,  and — there  is  no  light." 

Softly — softly — softly — the  tones  of  his  mother's  voice  still 
echo  in  his  ear. 


'  Not  the  righteous — not  the  righteous ; 
Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call." 


Faint  as  the  earliest  ray  of  morning  twilight,  a  gleam  of 
light  steals  to  his  spirit.  The  first  prayer  flutters  like  a  timid 
bird  from  his  heart.  "Jesus  save  me,  give  me  light — light — 
light !" 

When  his  mother  returned,  his  lips  were  moving,  and  a 
smile  played  about  his  face  that  thrilled  her  with  joy.  A  few 
minutes,  and  he  spoke. 

"  Mother !" 

"  What,  my  son  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  there.     Will  you  come  to  me  ?" 

She  went  to  him  and  took  his  hand.  "  Mother,  I  believe — 
I  am — beginning — to  see."  He  raised  his  head  a  little,  with 
a  look — half  hope,  half  doubt — as  thought  the  light  flickered 
before  him." 


420  KATE    WESTOX. 

"Bless  God!  my  child,"  the  mother  cried  in  a  burst  of 
feeling,  "  the  morning  is  breaking  at  last — at  last." 

That  night,  soon  after  Judge  Ainslie  had  left  the  sick 
chamber,  he  was  wakened  from  his  first  slumber  by  his  wife. 
He  followed  her  to  the  bedside  of  Clarence.  There  was  no 
word  spoken,  but  the  father  a^nd  mother  looked  in  the  face  of 
their  son,  then  into  each  other's  eyes,  each  reading  the  an- 
swer to  their  own  fears. 

"  Clarence,"  said  his  father. 

The  invalid  turned  his  face  towards  him.  "  Yes,  father,  it 
is  growing  clearer ;  where  is  Edward  ?  I'll  show  him  " — 

"  Show  him  what  ?"  his  father  whispered. 

"The  light  yonder;  he  hasn't  found  it?"  A  look  of 
inquiry  rested  upon  his  face. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  boy.     Have  you  found  it  ?" 

"  Yes — yes — how  bright  it  grows  !  Go  and  tell  mother." 
A  look  of  radiant  joy  glowed  for  a  moment  upon  his  face, 
and  he  stretched  out  his  hand.  "  Where's  Edward  ?  Isn't 
he  here  ?  Quick,  or  he'll  be  too  late."  He  sank  back 
exhausted  uppn  his  pillow,  but  the  radiance  lingered  on  his 
face. 

Judge  Ainslie  hurried  from  the  room,  dispatched  a  servant 
for  the  family  physician,  and  went  himself  to  Mr.  Pufton's 
house.  Only  that  day  Edward  had  been  released,  and  had 
intended  visiting  Clarence  on  the  morrow. 

"  Mother,"  Clarence  said,  a  few  minutes  after  his  father  had 
gone. 

Mrs.  Ainslie  had  gone  for  Kate,  but  the  mother's  ear  caught 
his  murmur.  She  hurried  to  his  side. 

"  Don't  go,  mother.  I  have  been  wayward  and  cruel ;  you 
have  been  very  patient.  Watch  with  me  a  little  longer, 
mother — not  long  now." 

The  mother  crowded  back  her  tears,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  forehead.  "  Are  you  happy,  Clarence  ?" 

"  Yes — happy — now." 


KATE    WESTON.  427 

"  What  makes  you  happy  ?"  She  stooped  eagerly  for  his 
answer. 

The  dying  youth  smiled. 

"  Not  the  righteous — 
Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call." 

"  Sing  again,  mother — that — will  you — -just  once  more — 
and  then  I  must  go.  But  where  is  Edward  ?  There's  the 
light."  He  pointed  up  with  one  hand — "  Edward." 

"Edward  is  not  here,  my  son,"  the  mother  tried  to  say 
calmly,  but  her  voice  quivered.  "  Your  father  has  gone  for 
him." 

"  If  I'm  not  here  when  he  comes,  tell  him — there,  mother, 
there !"  He  started  forward  eagerly,  and  pointed  up  again. 

"  Quiet,  Clarence — there — yes — I  will  tell  him." 

He  seemed  satisfied  with  her  answer,  and  sank  back,  mur- 
muring, "Sing — that  again." 

Kate  entered  at  that  moment.  The  mother  could  not  sing. 
"  Kate,  will  you  sing  '  Come  ye  sinners  ?' "  she  said. 

The  young  girl  stole  in  behind  the  curtains  at  the  back  of 
the  bed,  and  commenced  singing.  He  lay  very  quiet  until 
she  was  through,  his  mother  watching  every  motion  of  his 
face. 

"Thank  you,  Kate,"  he  said,  when  she  was  still  again. 
"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  Tell  Alice  about  the 
light.  You  know.  You  never  had  a  night — nor  mother — 
except  mine." 

" But  the  day  is  breaking,  now,  Clarence,  for  you"  said 
Kate. 

"  Yes, — the  night  has  been  very  long — very  dark,  but  the 
morning  is — it  is — at  hand." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  was  there.  He  shook  his  head 
as  he  looked  at  the  strange  radiance  of  that  pale,  quiet  face. 
"  Nothing — nothing,"  he  whispered,  in  answer  to  the  mother's 
earnest  glance.  He  saw  by  her  look  that  she  was  ready  for 
his  answer. 


428  KATE   WESTON. 

'"  Clarence,  how  do  you  feel  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oli,  doctor,  I  am — going.  Good-bye — Kate — good-bye. 
Mother — where  are  you  ?  Kiss  ine — I  am  going.  Wait ! 
where  is  Edward — and  father — and  " — he  started  again. 

"  Keep  still,  Clarence,  for  a  few  minutes,  and  you  shall  see 
them,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  low,  firm  voice,  laying  his  hand 
soothingly  upon  those  of  the  invalid. 

Mrs.  Ainslie  and  Kate  both  understood  him.  Kate  drew 
quietly  within  the  shadow  of  the  curtains,  and  Mrs.  Ainslie 
passed  her  fingers  gently  over  the  damp  forehead.  He  lay 
still,  and  seemed  to  sleep.  Mrs.  Ainslie  looked  a  little 
alarmed,  but  an  imperative  gesture  from  the  physician  kept 
her  quiet. 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  father  came  in  with  Edward 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pufton.  His  sister  lived  so  far  away  that 
she  was  not  yet  with  them.  The  physician  whispered  to  him  : 
"  Do  not  call  the  children,  unless  he  asks  for  them.  He  will 
be  better  quiet.  Too  much  excitement  will  make  his  mind 
wander." 

"  Is  that  Edward?"  said  Clarence,  stirring  again. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,  Clarence,"  said  Edward,  softly.          * 

Kate's  heart  thrilled  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  but  it  was 
no  time  to  think  of  self,  nor  to  allow  him  any  intimation  of 
her  presence.  She  shrank  further  behind  the  folds  of  the 
muslin  curtains,  and  Clarence  said  in  a  tone  of  relief: 

"  They  told  me  you  would  come  to-day,  but  I  was  afraid 
you  would  be  too  late.  I  want  to  tell  you  " — 

"  What,  Clarence  ?  my  dear  Clarence."  The  young  man 
bent  yearningly  over  the  pale,'  eager  face,  and  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes. 

"Have  you  found  the  light?"  the  blind  eyes  turned  almost 
wildly  towards  him. 

"  Which  light  ?"  he  asked. 

"  There  !"  He  pointed  up  again.  "  Jesus — the  Savior — 
mine — yours.  '  Not  the  righteous — Sinners  Jesus  ' — Yon- 
der, see!  The  sunlight  coming  at  last!"  His  head  sank 


"There!11     He  pointed  up  again.    ''Jesus— the  Saviour— mine— yours.     •  Not  the 
righteous — Sinners  Jesus1 — Yonder,  seel  The  sunlight  coming  at  last  P'  P.  428. 


KATE    WESTON.  429 

upon  the  pillow.  The  physician  stepped  forward.  "  Quiet, 
Clarence,"  he  said  softly,  "  or  I'll  have  to  send  them  all 
away." 

"  No,  I  am  going  now,"  Clarence  whispered,  with  a  smile. 
"  Say,  Edward— the  light,  find  it." 

Edward's  voice  trembled.     "  I  have  found  it,  Clarence." 

An  expression  of  ineffable  beauty  passed  over  the  blind 
"boy's  face.  "  Pray  then,  Edward — pray.  Here,  mother,  hold 
my  head  once  more.  Oh,  father,  mother,  -precious  mother, 
morning  is  breaking,  at  the  cross ;  tell  them  all.  Wait, 
Ellie,  Carlisle,  Alice,  Mr.  Pufton,  little  Ned,  where  are  they  ? 
Aunt  Sophie." 

They  came  with  tearful  eyes,  and  kissed  him  without 
speaking.  Dr.  Currer  said,  "  There,  Clarence,  Alice  is  not 
here,  and  the  children,  we  will  tell  them  for  you,  lie  still,  and 
Edward  will  pray  " — 

"Yes,  tell  her  the  night  has  been  so  long  to  me,  but  day  is 
coming  now,  pray  Edward." 

Edward  knelt  beside  him,  and  the  others  stood  around  the 
bed.  Judge  Ainslie,  with  his  stately  figure  bowed;  Aunt 
Sophie,  with  her  hand  pressed  over  her  eyes ;  Mr.  Pufton, 
quivering  with  suppressed  feeling,  and  the  physician,  gravely 
watching  the  strange  glory  of  "the  paling  face,  as  the  accents 
of  that  prayer  floated  through  the  silent  room.  And  Kate, 
sinking  on  her  knees  behind  the  sheltering  curtains,  strove 
to  join  in  the  prayer  with  no  other  thought  than  of  the 
dying,  and  the  glory  he  was  entering.  But  Avith  the  solemn 
sympathy  accorded  to  others,  there  rushed  through  her  own 
being  a  tide  of  joy  and  hope  that  swept  away  the  doubts  and 
griefs  of  years. 

Light  was  dawning ;  light  to  the  living,  passing  from  the 
night  of  sin  to  the  morning  of  salvation ;  light  to  the 
dying,  passing  from  the  night  of  time  to  the  morning  of 
eternity. 

The  tones  of  the  pleader's  voice  grew  deep  and  strong ; 
swelling  upward  from  the  holy  room  to  the  holier  heaven 


430  KATE    WESTON. 

opening  to  the  blind  boy's  vision ;  so  powerful  was  the  mel- 
lowed voice,  in  its  trembling  earnestness,  that  the  parting  spirit 
might  have  floated  upward  on  the  pinions  of  that  prayer. 

The  mother  saw  the  radiance  of  the  face  brighten  until  a 
look  of  holy  triumph  settled  on  the  stiffening  features.  She 
felt  the  head  she  held  upon  her  breast  grow  heavy.  She 
heard  the  breath  come  fainter,  but  she  sat  there  quietly, 
yielding  up  the  soul  for  which  she  had  wrestled  through  the 
long  night  of  his  earthly  sin  and  suffering,  into  the  hands  of 
a  pitying  Savior. 

When  Edward  ceased,  they  gathered  closer  round  the  bed. 
The  father  stooped  to  listen,  and  drew  back  with  a  strange 
look  upon  his  face. 

The  mother's  prayers  were  heard ! — the  morning  had 
broken. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

NIGHT  again  in  the  saloon.  The  guests  had  departed,'  and 
the  proprietor  was  sitting  in  his  large  arm-chair,  with  his  feet 
stretched  out  upon  one  of  the  marble  tables.  Two  or  three 
of  the  lights  in  the  little  chandelier  were  still  burning,  and 
the  profusion  of  bottles,  dishes,  and  glasses  lying  about  the 
counter  and  tables,  spoke  of  an  excellent  day's  profit. 

But  Mr.  Gamp  seemed  totally  indifferent  to  everything 
except  some  profound  thoughts,  which  were  anything  but 
pleasant,  judging  from  the  frown  that  contracted  his  brow. 
The  front  door  and  windows  were  closed,  but  the  back  door 
AS  as  far  enough  ajar  to  let  in  the  cool  air;  he  sat  with  his 
back  towards  it,  so  that  he  did  not  notice  it  slowly  open,  and 
the  figure  of  a  woman  standing  there  did  not  hinder  the  vexa- 
tion that  at  last  broke  forth  in  words.  • 

"  What  does  this  mean  now  ?     Out  of  prison,  and  away  up 


RATE    WESTON.  4<5l 

there  with  Bill.  If  I  could the  Avhole  lot  of  them  I 

wouldn't  say  it,  but  do  it.  Much  good  it's  done,  the  business  I 
helped  along  so  smoothly.  Given  me  nine  months'  swing, 
and  now  I'm  as  bothered  as  ever.  One  thing's  plain,  I'll 
have  to  clear  out  from  here  as  soon  as  possible.  That  infer- 
nal land  speculation  that  I  chuckled  over'll  have  to  slip,  and 
five  thousand  with  it,  or  I'll  have  to  trust  to  luck  and  my 
patron-saint,  ha — ha — to  help  me  out  of  any  scrape  I  might 
happen  to  get  into.  Believe  I'll  try  the  last.  My  saint  doesn't 
need  much  praying  to  either.  Goes  on  the  principle,  '  You 
tickle  me,  I'll  tickle  you !'  All  fair  and  square,  old  fellow,  but 
I  ain't  satisfied  with  this  caper,  anyhow. 

"  Cleared  the  gallows,  eh  ?  Wish  he'd  tumble  over  the 
falls,  and  Bill  with  him."  He  clenched  his  fist  as  he  uttered 
the  concluding  oath ;  but  a  moment  after  started,  as  a  soft 
hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder. 

A  woman  with  a  face  stamped  with  the  lowest  kind  of  dis- 
sipation stood  eying  him  steadily.  "  Good  wishes  to  your 
friends,  certainly,"  she  said,  in  a  low  scornful  tone.  "  One 
would  think  your  nephew  would  command  different  feel- 
ings." 

With  another  oath  he  exclaimed  fiercely,  "  What  are  you 
here  after  ?  and  how  dare  you  steal  in,  in  that  way  ?  do  you 
know  I  could  have  you  arrested  on  suspicion  of  burglary  ?" 

She  answered  with  a  mocking  laugh,  "  I  didn't  come  to  be 
arrested  ;  vait  awhile,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  came  for." 

"Strange  time  and  way  for  a  lady  to  enter,  anyhow," 
sneered  Gamp,  "  not  much  to  your  credit ;  but  what's  come 
over  you ;  you're  mighty  calm,  and  what  are  you  here  for, 
now  your  girl's  off?" 

"  I  did  not  come  for  credit ;  there'd  be  none  of  that  in 
visiting  you.  Shame  is  dead  within  me,  and  hope  and  joy ; 
but  revenge  remains,  and  I  have  come  for  that." 

He  drew  his  black  eyebrows  down,  and  glared  upon  her 
from  under  them.  "Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  found  out 


432  KATE    WESTOX. 

what  you've  been  up  to?  Don't  I  know  how  you've  been 
ferreting  out  everything  I  ever  did,  and  sending  out  the  infor- 
mation, fast  as  you  caught  it,  to  that  Clarence  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  you've  found  it  out ;  I  know  you  managed  to 
get  him  to  prison  for  it  too ;  much  good's  it  done  you." 

"  Well,  suppose  I'd  got  him  to  the  gallows ;  that's  what  I 
tried  to  do,  my  gentle  charmer.  Who'd  ha'  been  the  wiser  ? 
But  come,  it's  getting  late,  and  I'm  sleepy  ;  tell  me  what  you 
are  here  after  ?" 

She  laughed  again.    He  uttered  an  imprecation.  " you, 

how  queer  you  act ;  sober  and  calm — declare  I  believe  it's 
another  phase  of  your  madness."  He  looked  with  a  sort  of 
wonder  at  her  as  she  stood  there  with  that  smile  of  irony  on. 
her  wild  face. 

"  I've  kept  sober  for  a  whole  week,  that  I  might  accomplish 
my  purpose.  You  killed  my  husband,"  she  said,  in  a  low, 
hoarse  voice,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  his  face.  "  Higgius  tried, 
at  your  instigation,  to  poison  him,  but  failed." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  scorn,  "  and  you  have  eaten 
all  the  fruits  without  giving  me  a  taste,  or  Higgins  either, 
except "  — 

"  And  you  did  more,"  she  continued,  without  paying  any 
attention  to  his  interruption,  "you  tried  before  he  died  to 
render  him  incapable  of  protecting  his  wife  from  the  insidious 
advances  of  a  man,  who,  though  respected  of  the  world,  was 
as  much  a  villain  as  yourself." 

"  Get  me  in  the  asylum,  won't  you  ?"  said  Gamp,  cocking 
his  head  to  one  side.  She  did  not  notice  him,  but  Avent  on  as 
though  he  had  not  spoken.  "  And  more,  you  killed  a  sea- 
captain,  and  escaped  from  the  hold  of  his  vessel.  You  would 
have  killed  WTilliam  Benson  if  you  had  dared,  for  he  married 
the  girl  you  wanted,  and  the  five  thousand  dollars  that  you 
coveted  ;  say,  where  is  that  five  thousand  dollars  now  ?  He 
and  his  wife  are  both  dead,  and  you  had  charge  of  the  orphan 
boy — a  pretty  charge  you  made  of  it,  too.  Just  tell  me,  will 


KATE    WESTON.  433 

you,  where  is  the  money  ?"  She  paused,  with  a  gleam  of  irony 
shooting  from  her  eyes. 

Gamp  scowled  at  her ;  a  terrible  scowl  that  made  her  recoil 
a  step,  and  draw  a  pistol  from  her  bosom.  "  Ha,"  she  laughed, 
"  do  you  think  I  am  a  fool  to  come  to  you  with  such  facts  as 
these,  and  unprotected.  Life  is  anything  but  agreeable,  but  I 
care  for  no  further  favors  from  your  hands." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  ready  to  swear  to  all  this,  soon  as 
Clarence  is  back  from  Canada,"  said  Gamp,  with  an  oath ; 
"  but  you'll  have  to  find  your  proofs  first,  I'm  thinking." 

She  stepped  to  the  door.  He  watched  her  with  a  fiendish 
sneer,  half  hate,  half  wonder  upon  his  face.  The  sneer  gave 
way  to  a  sudden  frown  of  defiance  as  a  man  followed  her  into 
the  room.  For  one  moment  Gamp  looked  at  him,  as  though 
trying  to  recognize  him.  The  next,  he  started  from  his  chair 
glowering  fiercely  upon  the  intruder. 

"  Fine  way  to  welcome  an  old  ship-mate,  Murphy," 
exclaimed  the  man.  "  I  only  stepped  out  on  this  woman's 
invitation  to  make  sure  it  was  you.  By  George,  if  we  didn't 
all  think  that  the  devil  had  run  away  with  you  that  time  you 
got  away  from  the  ship ;  the  old  tars  told  it  for  years  after — 
for  one  of  their  best  yarns." 

"  What  are  you  here  for  1"  growled  Gamp,  from  between 
his  set  teeth. 

"  To  see  you,"  said  the  other.  "  Carl  Shroeck  doesn't  so 
easy  forget  old  friends.  But,  to  Mil  the  truth,  though  I  don't 
profess  to  be  very  good,  I  came  to  see  if  I  couldn't  see  poor 
Bill  Benson's  boy  righted.  Though  you  got  in  with  him 
before  he  died,  he  gave  me  a  heap  of  his  papers,  and  the  boy's 
got  'em  now.  I'd  have  done  something  with  'em  long  ago. 
only  I  didn*t  know  how." 

Gamp  gnashed  his  teeth.  "  And  how  soon  may  I  expect 
to  be  honored  with  another  visit  ?" 

"Soon  as  he  comes  on.  Have  to  settle  up  your  affairs 
pretty  soon,  old  boy.  Don't  think  you'll  stay  in  Laconia 
18 


434  KATE    WESTON. 

much  longer ;"  the  man  tipped  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  looked  about  with  an  air  of  easy  nonchalance. 

Gamp  clenched  his  fist,  and  his  face  grew  purple  with  rage ; 
he  would  have  rushed  upon  them  both,  but  the  woman  raised 
her.  pistol.  "  I  defy  you !"  he  hissed.  "  If  the  devil  did  help 
me  once,  he  can  again.  Do  your  worst."  He  seated  himself 
doggedly,  and  his  visitors,  without  further  ceremony,  walked 
out  as  they  came. 

He  sat  for  half  an  hour,  then  rose,  locked  the  place  care- 
fully, gathered  a  few  articles  from  his  desk,  deposited  them 
in  his  pocket,  took  a  heavy  walking  stick  from  a  corner,  and 
went  out  at  the  front  door. 

The  maid  of  all  work  looked  deprecatingly  at  her  master, 
as  she  caught  the  expression  of  his  face  that  night.  He 
passed  her  with  scarcely  a  glance,  merely  asking  if  Dick  was 
abed  yet.  Upon  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  passed 
up  stairs,  directly  to  the  young  man's  chamber. 

"  Dick,  Dick,"  he  called,  as  he  opened  .the  door.  The  only 
answer  was  a  sort  of  sleepy  grunt.  He  entered  the  room. 
"  Dick,  Dick,"  he  called  again,  shaking  the  sleeper's  shoulder, 
"  I  want  to  see  you  directly,  get  up,  will  you  ?  How  hard  he 
is  to  wake !" 

Having  at  last  succeeded  in  fairly  rousing  the  boy,  he 
ordered  him  to  dress,  and  come  down  stairs  directly,  then 
turned  away,  and  called  the  trembling  girl  as  she  was  stealing 
up  to  bed,  to  escape  the  g*entle  reproofs  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  administering  when  things  had  occurred  to  ruffle  his 
serenity. 

By  the  time  the  sleepy  clerk  had  dressed  and  descended 
to  the  sitting-room,  Gamp  had  made  up  a  small  package, 
abstracted  from  two  or  three  locked  trunks  in  his  own  apart- 
ments. A  heterogeneous  mass,  too,  it  would  have  seemed  to 
an  unitiated  observer,  as  he  gathered  them  together. 

A  small  roll  of  dirty  papers,  a  revolver,  a  bushy  wig  of  red 
hair,  a  tarpaulin  jacket  and  cap,  were  packed  tightly  in  a 


KATE    WESTON.  435 

small  portmanteau,  which  he  locked,  placing  the  key  in  a  side 
pocket  along  with  a  great  wallet,  and  buttoning  it  in  with 
two  or  three  buttons,  so  that,  by  no  possibility,  it  could  be 
lost. 

He  made  no  preface  to  his  remarks  when  he  returned  to 
the  clerk  and  servant  awaiting  his  return.  "I'm  going  on  a 
journey  South  to-morrow,  as  far  as  New  Orleans.  Expect  to 

be  gone  a  month.  But  I  don't  want  a  confounded in 

Laconia  to  know  I'm  away.  Dick  and  Elspeth — you  know 
me.  If  I'm  odd  in  my  way  sometimes,  you  never  knew  me 
say  a  thing  I  didn't  do — did  you  ?" 

The  boy,  awake  at  last,  mumbled  wonderingly,  "No,  sir, 
no,"  and  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,  I've  got  just  this  to  say  to  you.  Do  as  I  tell  you 
for  a  month,  and  I'll  give  each  of  you  a  hundred  dollars 
down.  Let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  I'll  follow  you  with" — 
a  black  scowl  finished  the  sentence.  "You  see,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  there's  a  good  deal  to  save  or  lose  by  this  journey, 
but  I  don't  choose  to  let  people  know  I'm  taking  it.  You  two 
are  to  stay  here  just  as  you  always  have.  Dick  goes  to  the 
saloon  in  the  morning,  gives  out  I'm  sick — bilious  fever,  say, 
and  if  anybody  comes  here  but  Dr.  Higgins,  I  can't  be  seen. 
Keep  the  doors  locked,  and  you've  both  got  the  cunning  to 
walk  straight  enough  for  a  month  to  keep  my  absence  secret. 
When  the  doctor  comes  let  him  in ;  he's  the  only  one  to 
understand.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

Both  listeners  assented  with  inward  surprise  to  the  propo- 
sition, and  Gamp  dispatched  them  to  bed,  telling  them  that 
he  should  be  off  in  the  morning  before  they  were  up,  and 
casting  a  keen  glance  of  inquiry  upon  each  as  they  passed  up 
stairs.  He  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  for  in 
five  minutes  after  they  were  gone,  he  slipped  out  "at  the  back 
door  with  his  portmanteau,  muttering,  "  They  are  well  settled, 
now  for  Dr.  Higgins — then  all  to  luck  and  the ." 

He  found  Dr.  Higgins  up,  although  it  was  nearly  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  when  he  knocked  at  his  office  door.  When 


436  KATE    WESTON. 

the  doctor  opened  it,  a  man  with  his  face  completely  con- 
cealed by  a  muffler,  peeped  into  the  room,  then,  with  a  mut- 
tered, "  Higgins,  what  are  you  up  at  this  time  o'  night  for  ?" 
walked  in. 

"  Have  they  been  to  your  place  to-night  ?"  asked  the  doc- 
tor, when  he  had  closed  the  door. 

"  Yes.  blast  them,  that  hag's  got  more  in  her  than  I  gave 
her  credit  for ;  they've  been  here,  eh  ?" 

"  They  were  here  three  or  four  hours  ago.  I  had  no  busi- 
ness with  the  man,  but,  Gamp,  I  wish  I'd  begged  my  bread 
before  I  attempted  to  drug  Morris,  ugh  !"  The  lank  figure 
shivered  as  he  spoke.  "  Swearing  you  off,  too,  with  that 
testimony  of  mine  that  I  thought  he  killed  himself.  I  don't 
believe  anybody  thought  so,  then.  I  wouldn't  have  done  it 
but  for  you  and  Dunn." 

"  Pooh,  Higgins,  what's  done's  done,  and  no  help  for  it ; 
you  sold  your  soul  for  money,  what  most  of  us  do,  I  suppose ; 
to  be  sure,  you  took  a  little  more  coaxing,  but  it's  the  same  in 
the  end.  You've  done  penance  for  it  ever  since  with  that 
long  face,  but  it  hasn-'t  cured  you  of  'the  root  of  all  evil' 
yet.  Better  give  all  your  money  to  the  -poor,  Higgins,  it 
might  ease  your  soul,  eh  ?" 

"  That  woman's  visit's  upset  me,"  said  Higgins,  with  a  con- 
traction of  his  haggard  face,  and  an  accent  of  lugubrious 
despair.  "  Believe  I'd  do  anything  " — 

Gamp  interrupted  him  with  a  low,  mocking  laugh.  "No 
matter  now  what  you  would  do,  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you,  and 
you  know  it.  Business  is  business,  and  this  business  mustn't 
be  delayed.  I  came  for  your  horse,  Higgins.  They've  told  me 
something  that'll  take  me  off  directly.  But  it's  to  be  kept  a 
secret.  Dick's  to  keep  store,  Elspeth's  to  keep  house,  I'm  to 
be  very  sick,  and  you're  to  visit  me  every  day,  and  keep  a 
look  out  on  them.  I'll  leave  all  my  affairs  in  your  hands  to 
settle  for  me,  and  you'll  make  a  good  round  sum  for  your 
professional  services  if  things  go  straight,  and  I  get  anything 
like  all  that  belongs  to  me." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  the  doctor ;  "  I  don't  under- 
stand." • 

"  I  don't  want  you  to,"  was  the  ungracious  answer.  "  All 
I've  got  to  ask  is  that  you'll  keep  mum,  whatever  you  may 
hear.  I  am  dangerously  ill  for  a  month,  and  if  that's  blown 
up,  I've  gone  on  sudden  business  to  New  Orleans.  You  settle 
up  all  my  affairs,  and  I'll  manage  so  as  to  let  you  know  how 


KATE    WESTON.  437 

to  send  the  money,  to  me.  Sell  everything  but  the  saloon; 
that  might  excite  suspicion.  You  understand  and  agree  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  hesitating,  "  but  am  I  never  to  get 
out  of  this  tangle.  I  thought  I'd  run  off  to  some  foreign 
country  to  get  clear  of  my  sickness  and  that  woman's  haunt- 
ing face." 

"  Ha,  ha,  I'm  ahead  of  you  ;  just  what  I'm  going  to  do  my- 
self, but  I'll  keep  about  if  I  can  till  I  get  the  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  dollars  I  got  here,  and  then  I'm  off.  If  you  do 
well  by  it,  that  is,  the.  best  you  can,  for  you  must  '  hurry  up 
the  cakes*  you'll  have  two  or  three  thousand  to  add  to 
yours,  and  get  off  before  the  chills  come  on  next  spring. 
You  know  me,  that's  always  been  my  policy,  pound  wise  and 
penny  foolish.  But  come,  I  can't  be  torn-fooling  with  you 
here.  I  want  your  horse,  how  much  do  you  want  for  it,  two- 
fifty  ?"  he  pulled  out  his  pocket-book.  The  doctor's  dull  eyes 
brightened.  He  had  paid  just  half  that  sum  for  his  horse 
three  months  before. 

In  half  an  hour  the  bargain  had  been  made,  the  $250 
paid  out  of  Gamp's  capacious  wallet,  the  horse  taken  stealthily 
from  the  stable,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  Gamp  mounted  oji 
its  hack,  with  his  portmanteau  girded  behind  him,  was  mak- 
ing his  way  swiftly  and  silently  through  the  darkness.  As  he 
gathered  up  the  reins, .  he  stooped  towards  Higgins,  and  the 
gleam  of  his  eye  struck  like  cold  steel  to  his  companion's 
heart.  "  Now  then,  secrecy  or  death  !"  and  as  the  horse's 
hoofs  sounded  on  the  road  he  muttered  again,  "  All  now  to 
luck  and  the ." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

KATE  WESTON  was  sitting  down  close  by  the  leaping 
waterfall  below  her  bower.  Her  work  lay  upon  her  lapv 
with  her  hand  buried  in  the  folds,  as  though  she  had  dropped 
it  carelessly.  She  was  watching  the  sunlight  sparkling  in  the 
diamond  spray  as  it  came  tumbling  over  the  rocks  almost  to 
her  feet.  Now  and  then,  two  or  three  drops  splashed  over 
on  her  face  or  dress.  But  she  did  not  heed  them ;  her 


438  KATE    WESTON. 

thoughts  were  wandering  away  from  the  bright  waterfall  and 
sunshine.  A  pure  light  was  in  her  eye,  and  a  slight  flush 
upon  her  cheek. 

"  Katie,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  'said  Mary  Steele, 
softly,  touching  her  lips  to  her  cheek.  "  It  seems  almost 
sacrilege  to  disturb  so  sweet  a  reverie ;  but  I  have  come  on  a 
special  errand,  Kate."  There  was  a  sadness  in  her  tone  that 
her  companion  interpreted ;  for  she  returned  her  kiss  with- 
out answering  her. 

"  I  have  written  my  letter,"  continued  Mary,  "  and  used 
every  plea  I  could  think  of,  and  father  has  Avritten  too,  but 

if  you" She  hesitated.     Kate  looked  up,  and  the  flush 

deepened  on  her  cheek ;  still  she  did  not  speak. 

Mary  began  again.  "  I  may  as  well  say  it  at  once,  Kate, 
and  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  wound  your  feelings;  but," 
with  a  little  burst  of  tears,  "  Edward  is  so  dear  to  us  that  we 
cannot  let  him  leave  us  without — here  Kate,  read  my  letter, 
it's  a  long  one,  but  a  word  from  you  will  be  more  than  all. 
•  If  you  cannot  say  it,  I  must  be  content.  I'm  going  up  to 
see  your  mother  while  you  read  it." 

Kate  took  the  letter  without  looking  up,  and  the  instant' 
Mary  was  gone,  gave  vent  to  a  gush  of  tears.  "  Too  dear 
indeed ;  Oh,  Edward  !"  The  letter  was  written  in  a  strain  of 
the  most  earnest  entreaty,  begging  him  to  return  to  Laconia, 
and  adducing  every  possible  argument  to  induce  him  to  do 
so.  Among  other  items  that  startled  Kate,  was  the  intelli- 
gence that  Dr.  Higgins  had  been  seized  with  a  fit  of  paralysis 
on  that  very  morning,  from  which"  it  appeared  impossible 
that  he  should  recover. 

Worn  down  at  last  in  body  and  soul,  he  had  sunk  beneath 
the  accumulation  of  remorse  and  suffering.  As  we  shall  not 
again  revert  to  his  career,  we  may  state  that  the  poor  man 
lingers  still  in  a  state  of  imbecility,  while  his  mind  wanders 
always  to  the  past,  and  conscience  harrows  his  soul  through 
unoccupied  days  and  sleepless  nights. 

When  Kate  had  finished,  she  let  the  letter  fall,  as  she  had 
done  her  work  before,  and  looked  off  to  the  waterfall  again. 
It  was  a  delicate  matter  to  decide.  The  world's  praise  or 
blame  was  little  to  her;  but  would  Edward  come  to  her  now, 
with  the  same  trust  that  he  once  reposed  in  her  affection ; 
had  not  absence  and  her  conduct  towards  him  changed  the 
current  of  his  feelings  ?  She  could  not  write  as  her  heart 
dictated  without  the  risk  of  sacrificing  all  her  woman's  pride. 


KATE    WESTON.  439 

That  rose  strong  within  her  then.  She  could  not  stoop  to 
urge  his  coming  back  to  her,  and  be  disappointed.  Yet  it 
was  not  what  men  call  pride  that  struggled  in  her  bosom. 
It  was  mixed  with  holier  emotions ;  the  fear  of  giving 
Edward  pain  by  a  request  with  which  his  own  pride  and 
manly  feeling  would  not  allow  him  to  comply ;  of  subjecting 
him  to  a  series  of  annoyances  most  trying  to  him  by  induc- 
ing him.  to  return  to  the  scene  of  his  sufferings.  . 

This  last  had  almost  decided  her,  when  the  words  of  his 
prayer  came  fresh  to  her  memory,  words  uttered  by  the  bed- 
side of  the  dying,  "  Lord  help  us  to  care  nothing  for  the  vain 
opinions  of  men,  to  look  to  Thee  for  all  things,  and  to  make 
thy  truth  all  in  all  to  our  hearts,  that  the  faint  light  Thou  hast 
given  to  guide  us  here  may  increase  more  and  more  unto  the 
perfect  day."  After  some  minutes  she  rose  and  returned  to 
the  house.  Going  quietly  up  to  her  room,  she  opened  her 
writing-desk,  and  simply  wrote  the  words,  "  Edward  come,  I 
must  see  you.  KATE." 

When  the  letter  was  handed  to  Edward,  he  was  sitting  by 
a  table  in  William  Benson's  pleasant  little  sitting-room. 
Father  Benson  himself  ambled  into  the  room  in  his  long 
skirts,  and,  without  noticing  his  grandson  and  Maggie,  who 
sat  reading  from  the  same  book,  he  made  directly  for  Edward, 
and,  after  the  preliminary  three  knocks  of  the  cane  and 
shakes  of  the  head,  he  held  out  the  precious  missive  with  one 
of  the  cheeriest  smiles  in  the  world.  "  My  boy,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  you'll  never  learn  to  exercise  the  grace  of  patience.  Here 
your  letter  comes  the  very  first  time  you  wish  for  it,  while  I 
must  wait — Oh,  ever  so  many  threes  for  mine.  But  then  I 
got  it  at  last,  and  my  boy  too,  and  a  new  daughter  into  the 
bargain."  He  put  his  cane  upon  the  table,  glanced  lovingly 
towards  his  grandchildren,  and  clapped  his  hands  ecstatically. 
Then,  as  through  suddenly  recollecting  something,  up  he 
quavered  to  William,  "  My  son,  did  you  remember  to  water 
the  grape-vine  to-night  ?" 

"  Yes,  father,"  the  young  man  answered,  "  I  watered  it 
enough  to  satisfy  you,  for  Maggie  was  at  my  elbow,  and  you 
know  she's  for  drenching  everything  more  than  you  are." 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  the  old  gentleman  exclaimed,  looking 
delightedly  at  Maggie,  "  you'll  make  a  better  gardener  than 
Will ;  he  used  to  be  tolerable  when  he  was  a  boy,  before  he 
went  to  sea,  you  know,  but  all  his  new  machinery  has  turned 
his  head.  I  always  thought,"  he  continued,  with  a  rub  of 


440  KATE    WESTON. 

the  hands,  "  he  would  do  something  at  that  some  day.  I  can 
tell  you  that  little  steam-engine  the  nimsellers  carried  off 
was  a  model.  I've — no — doubt,"  he  accompanied  each  of 
the  last  three  words  with  a  decisive  thump  on  Maggie's  shoul- 
der, "  he'll  make  one  of  the  first  engineers  in  this  country — 
in  three  years,  you  know — everything  goes  by  threes." 

"  If  we  hadn't  you  here  to  work  our  garden,  half  the  plea- 
sure of  our  pretty  cottage  home  would  be  spoiled,"  said  Mag- 
gie, with  a  pleasant  smile,  "for  I  am  sure  William  would  never 
do  it." 

He  looked  more  delighted  than  ever.  "  I  can  make  a 
first-rate  garden  now,  or  write  a  first-rate  sermon.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  like  it  too,  Maggie.  I  don't  think,"  he 
added  confidentially,  "that  between  my  boy's  return,  and 
the  garden,  and  my  colportage  of  Tracts  and  Bibles,  there's 
a  happier  old  man  within  a  hundred  miles  than  Father  Ben- 
son." 

"  Or  a  happier  young  man  than  his  son,"  said  William, 
casting  a  glance  of  mingled  love  and  pride  from  his  fine  eyes 
upon  Maggie,  then  turning  them  in  real  affection  upon  the 
amiable  old  gentleman.  The  young  people  made  a  point  of 
always  humoring  him  in  his  peculiar  fancies,  and  the  old  man 
who  had  trudged  about  through  so  many  lonely  years  with 
his  "  Standard  Library,"  cheerful  and.  hopeful  in  his  lone- 
liness, had  now  arrived  at  the  very  acme  of  earthly  con- 
tent. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  he  said  presently,  ambling  back  to  Edward, 
"  how  are  things  going  at  Laconia  ?  I  thought  a  minute  ago 
nothing  could  make  me  a  grain  liappier,  but  positively  now 
it  would  do  me  good  to  have  a  nice  shaking  from  Mr.  Jere- 
miah. So  hearty  is  Mr.  Jeremiah  with  his  old  friends,  'spe- 
cially in  days  of  trouble.  'Twould  be  a  great  treat  now." 
He  shook  his  head,  and  gave  one  of  his  little  ecstatic  smiles, 
as  though  actually  revelling  in  the  delight  of  a  shaking. 
Edward,  who  had  finished  his  letter,  and  been  startled  from 
an  absorbing  reverie  by  his  approach,  took  advantage  of 
Father  Benson's  pleasant^little  fancy  to  recover  his  self-pos- 
session. 

"  Everybody  that  we  love  is  well  there  ;  but  poor  Higgins 
is  prostrated,  I  fear  for  life.  He  has  been  struck  with  para- 
lysis, and  given  up  all  his  practice.  I  have  any  quantity  of 
messages  for  you,  for  none  of  them  forget  you  there." 

"  Trust  Jeremiah  for  that,"  cried  Father  Benson,  rubbing 


KATE    WESTON.  441 

his  hands.  "  He  never  forgets  old  friends ;  but  what's  that 
about  Dr. Higgins?  given  up  practice?  Poor  man!  he'll  have 
to  exercise  the  grace  of  patience  now,  at  any  rate.  But  he 
may  be  better  in  three  years.  The  disease  may  work  itself 
out  by  that  time.  They  want 'you  back,  again,  don't  they?" 
He  turned  his  little  eager  eyes  inquisitively  upon  Edward. 

"  Yes,  they  want  me  back,"  answered  the  young  man 
thoughtfully,  "  they  think  there  is  a  good  field  open  now  for 
the  practice  of  my  profession ;  but  I  don't  know." 

"To  be  sure,"  exclaimed  Father  Benson,  'seating  himself 
beside  Edward,  and  patting  him  three  times  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  bright  idea,  "  Providence  has  opened  a  way  for  you. 
Somebody*!!  have  to  take  Dr.  Higgins's  practice,  and  you'd 
be  happier  there  than  anywhere  else,  now  you  know  you 
would." 

."  But  I — after  " —  Edward  hesitated  and  sighed. 

"  Now  won't  you  believe  me,  Edward  ?"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, patting  him  again ;  the  Laconia  people  are  vast  friends 
of  yours  yet.  Why,  Mr.  Stetson  told  me  himself  the  last 
time  I  was  there  with  my  Standard  Library,  that  if  he  had  a 
choice  of  fifty  doctors,  he'd  take  you  in  preference  to  them 
all,  and  he  insisted  that  it  was  so  with  twenty  families  he 
knew.  Fact  is,  they  all  sympathize  with  you  there,  and  Jim 
Keid  has  a  cold  shoulder  turned  towards  him  nowadays." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Maggie,  "  that  he  is  actually  more  blamed 
than  you  are.  Mr.  Myers  and  a  few  of  their  associates  seem 
to  be  the  only  ones  that  take  his  part  at  all." 

"  That  consideration  would  have  less  weight  than  the  call 
of  duty,  Maggie,"  said  young  Benson,  glancing  towards  the 
noble  face  whose  expression  was  so  fraught  with  thoughtful 
doubt  that  he  scarcely  seemed  to  be  listening  to  their  words. 
The  last  sentence,  however,  roused  him.  A  flash,  as  of  some 
new  light,  glowed  for  a  moment  in  Edward's  eye.  The  next 
moment  he  pushed  his  chair  from  the  table  and  walked  to 
the  window.  "The  moon  is  just  rising,"  he  said  as  he 
returned,  "  I  believe  I  will  walk  towards  the  Falls,  and  think 
over  the  matter  quietly.  Duty  has  become  a  word  of  stern 
significance  to  me.  I  had  almost  forgotten  it  in  my  sensitive 
dread  of  returning  to  Laconia.  I  thank  you,  William,  for 
reminding  me." 

As  he  stepped  out  from  the  luxuriant  bushes  about  the 
door,  a  man's  figure  crouched  noiselessly  into  their  shadow. 
19* 


442  KATE    WESTON. 

Edward  walked  up  the  road.  For  a  moment  the  strange 
figure  followed  him.  Then  it  returned  again,  and  crept 
round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  still  concealed  by  the  bushes. 
Edward  left  the  road,  and  walked  along  the  bank  of  the 
river.  There  was  a  bright  spot  in  the  horizon,  heralding  the 
moon's  advance.  The  dark  waters  of  the  Niagara  river  rolled 
majestically  past,  and  above  the  moaning  of  the  autumn  wind 
swelled  the  roar  of  its  mighty  cataract. 

As  the  moon  arose,  a  line  of  spray  was  visible  below,  and 
Goat's  Island,  in  the  centre,  lay  dark  against  the  sky.  A 
strange  mixture  of  solemn  feelings  were  swelling  in  Edward's 
bosom.  All  this  wonderful  work  of  God  wakened  more  than 
admiration,  more  than  awe  in  his  chastened  heart — worship, 
mingled  with  the  childlike  trust  of  a  new  believer  in  a 
Savior's  love.  God's  power  but  added  to  the  confidence 
with  which  he  rested  in  his  love,  and  cast  himself  upon  his 
infinite  atonement. 

Presently,  mingling  with  those  thoughts,  came  the  earnest 
pleadings  of  his  father's  and  his  sister's  letters ;  the  arguments 
they  had  adduced,  the  inducements  they  had  urged,  the 
yearning  love  they  evinced — after  his  guilt  and  his  disgrace. 
But,  above  them  all,  before  them  all,  the  simple  words  traced 
in  Kate's  delicate  hand,  "  Edward  come — I  must  see  you," 
wakened  a  thrill  of  the  hope  he  thought  he  had  crushed 
away.  He  seemed  to  hear  them  in  the  music  of  her  voice  ; 
he  seemed  to  see  her  pure  face  in  that  moonlight  as  it  had 
beamed  upon  him  years  ago,  when,  and  how,  his  bleeding 
heart  too  well  remembered. 

He  Avalked  on  rapidly,  absorbed  in  his  reverie,  until  the 
roar  of  the  falls  called  him  back  to  the  consciousness  that  he 
stood  close  beside  the  mightiest  wonder  of .  the  physical 
world.  Directly  above  where  the  vast  mass  of  water,  rushing, 
whirling  over  those  eternal  rocks  leaps  into  the  bed  below, 
he  sank  down  upon  the  bank,  overwhelmed  for  a  season  with 
the  intensity  of  awe.  But  by-and-bv  Kate's  words  mingled 
again  with  the  voice  of  the  many  waters,  and  the  heart, 
attuned  as  it  was  to  the  melody  of  all  glorious  tones,  went 
traveling  back  to  feeling,  loving  life. 

Still  he  shrank  from  returning  to  those  upon  whose  name 
his  deed  had  cast  a  stain.  Welcome  him  warmly  as  they 
might,  he  knew  that  some  eyes  would  be  averted  at  his 
approach.  Could  Kate  Weston,  in  her  young  purity,  forgive 


KATE    WESTON.  443 

the  sorrow  lie  had  already  heaped  upon  her  ?  Ought  he  to 
lift  his"  heart  one  moment  to  her  now  ?  To  swerve  from  the 
course  of  self-sacrifice,  he  had  imposed  ? .  Duty !  What  was  the 
path  marked  out  by  God  ?  He  pondered  earnestly  and  well 
before  he  went  from  the  presence  of  the  mighty  waters. 

When  he  turned  a  lingering  glance  upon  the  everlasting 
sea  of  spray  rolling  beneath  him,  he  had  resolved.  Com- 
muning with  his  soul,  he  had  found  there  still  the  remains  of 
that  fear  of  man's  scorn,  and  love  of  man's  applause,  drawing 
him  away  from  all  that  earth  could  offer  of  love  and  happi- 
ness, father,  sisters,  friends.  He  would  return  to  them — he 
would  resume  the  practice  of  his  profession,  praying  and  toil- 
ing to  bear  meekly  the  reproaches  that  might  fall  upon  him, 
catching,  at  least,  some  sunlight  of  earth's  affection,  but 
looking  to  fame  or  honor — never. 

He  would  see  Kate,  but  his  heart  should  be  crushed  before 
her.  She,  at  least,  should  be  spared  the  humiliation  that  he 
might  have  to  undergo.  In  the  course  of  years  he  would 
learn  to  love  her  as  a  sister.  It  would  not  be  hard.  Why, 
he  could  fancy  her  sweet  face  smiling  upon  him  now,  and  her 
sweeter  voice  ringing  in  his  ear,  and  feel  no  thrill  of  agony 
that  a  year  ago  accompanied  each  thought  of  her.  There 
was  already  a  soothing  power  in  the  image  thus  evoked  that 
years  must  increase  and  strengthen. 

Ah,  Edward !  Experience  was  thine,  and  a  bitter  one,  but 
the  frank,  boyish  soul,  credulous  in  all  matters  of  affection, 
was  in  thee  still,  creating  a  peaceful  rnirage  in  absence,  that 
time  and  presence  should  scatter  with  a  breath. 

When  the  muffled  figure  returned  to  its  hiding-place 
among  the  bushes,  a  muttered  curse  went  up.  "  No  use ;  take 
them  altogether ;  it's  the  safest  way,"  and  the  speaker  crept 
close  up  to  the  window  of  the  sitting-room.  Looking  in,  he 
saw  William  and  Maggie  sitting  together  at  the  table,  their 
faces  beaming  with  the  perfect  content  that  only  love  and 
happiness  can  give.  Father  Benson  was  sitting  near  them, 
busily  engaged  in  sorting  over  some  books  and  tracts  which 
lay  in  a  large  paper  he  had  just  unfolded  beside  him.  Pre- 
sently William  closed  the  book,  and  turned  with  some  anima- 
tion to  speak  to  his  young  wife.  Then  he  rose,  took  from  a 
cupboard  a  small  wooden  box,  set  it  down  before  her,  and 
reseated  himself.  Opening  the  box,  he  took  out  a  package 
of  soiled  papers,  and  both  bent  eagerly  to  their  perusal. 

The  man  at  the  window  strained  his  eyes  eagerly  to  catch 


444  KATE    WKSTON. 

the  heading  of  the  first  paper  taken  up.  After  standing  some 
time  he  glided  away,  and  entered  a  cellar,  the  door  of  which 
was  already  open.  A  pile  of  something  just  discernible  in  the 
glimmer  of  the  rising  moon,  lay  beneath  a  small  window.  He 
lit  a  dark  lantern,  and  commenced  a  cautious  search.  The 
heap  consisted  of  a  lot  of  old  packing-boxes  and  barrels,  that 
from  the  dust  and  cobwebs  gathered  upon  them,  seemed  to 
have  lain  undisturbed  for  months.  He  went  round  behind 
them,  and  at  length,  seemingly  satisfied,  set  his  lantern  clown 
so  as  to  let  the  light  fall  directly  upon  an  uncouth  looking 
triangular  box,  so  disposed  under  a  lot  of  others,  that  its 
removal  would  cause  no  disturbance.  This  he  drew  out  with 
a  motion  dexterous  and  noiseless  as  that  of  the  Hindoo 
Thug  strangling  his  unwary  victim.  He  drew  his  lantern 
forward,  looked  into  the  aperture  thus  made,  put  his  hand 
stealthily  in  far  as  he  could  reach,  and  succeeded  in  drawing 
out  several  smaller  articles. 

After  closing  his  lantern,  he  left  it  there,  crept  out  stealthily 
as  he  came,  and  made  his  way,  ever  through  the  shadow 
of  the  bushes,  down  to  the  water's  side.  A  boat  lay  com- 
pletely concealed  beneath  some  trees,  from  around  whose 
roots  the  ceaseless  tide  had  washed  so  much  of  the  bank  as  to 
leave  their  trunks  bending  in  an  almost  horizontal  position 
above  the  water.  He  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  lifted  out  a 
small  keg,  seeming  from  the  manner  in  which  it  was  carried, 
very  heavy  for  its  size.  Once — twice — thrice — he  bore  one 
of  the  kegs  towards  the  house,  going  and  returning  with  a 
step  so  noiseless  that  a  listener  would  have  strained  his  ear  in 
vain  to  hear  anything  above  the  sigh  of  the  rustling  trees,  and 
the  roll  of  the  distant  cataract. 

At  length,  after  re-entering  the  cellar  for  the  third  time,  he 
proceeded  to  uncover  his  lantern.  First  one  keg,  then  the 
second,  were  placed  close  together  far  within  the  aperture  he 
had  previously  made.  Before  depositing  the  last,  he  deliberately 
took  a  gimlet  from  his  pocket,  made  an  aperture  in  the  bottom 
of  the  keg,  and  scattered  out  a  dark-colored  powder  all  the 
way  from  the  interior  of  the  aperture  to  the  edge.  Then,  after 
drawing  from  a  huge  side-pocket  a  ball  of  some  substance 
resembling  stripped  leather,  he  made  one  end  fast  to  the 
remaining  keg,  which  he  proceeded  to  place  close  beside  its  two 
companions.  Unwinding  the  ball,  he  laid  the  strip  all  along 
in  the  powder,  and  secured  it  where  the  powder  terminated  with 
a  half-circle  whose  sharp  points  he  fixed  firmly  in  the  ground. 


KATE    WESTON.  445 

Keplacing  carefully  the  smaller  articles  he  had  removed,  he 
returned  the  triangular  box  so  accurately  to  its  place  that  no 
one  could  have  suspected  its  removal.  Still  unrolling  the  ball, 
he  softly  lifted  the  window,  passed  it  through,  bored  a  hole  in 
the  very  corner  of  the  sash,  and  closed  the  window,  allowing 
the  string  to  pass  through  the  gimlet  opening. 

After  taking  a  careful  survey  of  the  place  where  he  had 
been  operating,  he  put  out  the  light  of  IMS  lantern,  passed  to 
the  outside  of  the  window,  lifted  the  ball,  and  made  with  it  a 
continuous  line  to  the  water,  fastening  it  finally  to  a  branch  of 
the  over-hanging  tree. 

When  all  this  was  done,  he  returned  to  the  little  side-win- 
dow, and  peeped  into  the  room.  Father  Benson  had  left 
them.  William  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  and  Maggie  was  strok- 
ing the  hair  from  his  forehead.  The  pile  of  papers  was 
returned  to  the  open  box.  Every  appliance  of  comfort  was 
arranged  so  as  to  convey  that  inexplicable  idea  of  home,  that 
carries  always  a  charm  to  the  happy  circle  within  its  bounds. 
He  turned  away,  and  looked  anxiously  up  to  a  heavy  cloud 
that  was  spreading  towards  the  moon.  Leaning  back  in  the* 
very  centre  of  a  clump  of  tall  lilacs,  he  drew  the  muffler  a 
little  from  his  face,  and  stood  for  a  full  half  hour  watching 
the  cloud  as  it  gathered  strength,  and  floated  upward  to  the 
zenith. 

Slow,  majestic,  as  though  fraught  with  destiny,  was  the 
march  of  the  rising  cloud.  Nearer,  nearer  it  advanced 
towards  the  moon,  flinging  its  pall  above  the  rolling  waters 
and  the  moonlit  shore.  A  gleam  of  satisfaction  shot  from  the 
fierce  eyes  of  the  watcher.  But  when  the  black  mass  had 
overtopped  the  zenith,  it  began  to  veer  slowly  round,  as  though 
impelled  by  some  adverse  current  in  the  air.  Floating  off, 
with  its  silver  edge  receding  from  the  moon,  it  passed  her  by, 
and  soon  broke  its  heavy  mass  into  smaller  ones,  fringed  and 
flaky,  swimming  about  through  the  clear  azure,  like  white 
sails  upon  a  distant  sea. 

The  man  uttered  a  low  oath,  and,  after  detaching  the  line 
he  had  lain  along  the  ground,  close  to  the  gimlet-hole  in  the 
window,  wound  it  up  again,  untied  it  from  the  tree,  and 
stepped  into  the  boat.  He  seated  himself  in  the  centre,  and 
commenced  plying  the  oars.  "  Confound  it !"  he  exclaimed, 
when  well  away  from  the  shore.  "  I'll  have  to  wait  now  till 

to-morrow  night.  That cloud  has  spoiled  the  whole 

affair,  breaking  up  in  that  fashion.  I  never  knew  my  luck 


446  KATE    WESTON. 

fail  so  before.  Might  as  well  hang  myself  as  fire  a  house 
such  a  night  as  this,  and  sail  away  under  that  blazing  moon. 
Moon's  up  an  hour  later  to-morrow ;  I'll  be  in  time  then  any- 
how. Blast  it,  hope  I'll  catch  Clarence  in,  too.  Curse  that 
Bill,  his  father  cut  me  out  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  I've  hated 
everything  that  belonged  to  him  since.  And  the  boy — he's 
thwarted  me,  feared  me,  hated  me,  tried  to  kill  me,  and  now 
he's  going,  to  try  the  hanging  game,  I  suppose,  with  those 

precious  papers.  By ,  but  I'll  break  up  his  cooing  and 

billing  to-morrow  night.  Bah !  the  dog !  I'd  like  to  send 
him  adrift  into  yonder  caldron." 

Soliloquizing  thus,  the  muffled  figure  rowed  away,  until  he 
came  to  the  opposite  side.  He  pulled  his  boat  into  a  sort  of 
cavern  formed  by  projecting  rocks,  secured  it,  took  a  small 
bundle  in  his  hand,  and  walked  rapidly  away.  *  *  *  * 

The  next  evening,  long  before  the  moon  rises,  the  quiet 
waters  of  the  cavern  are  stirred  again  by  the  rocking  of  the 
boat.  Silence  rests  upon  the  jagged  shore,  and  sleeps  upon 
the  dark  waters  that  lie  beneath  the  rocks.  Only  the  solemn 
monotony  of  the  cataract  below  answers  to  the  glance  of  the 
fur  stars,  whose  rays  quiver  in  the  tide.  Still  as  midsummer 
up  among  the  trees.  Not  a  leaf  stirring ;  not  a  squirrel 
startled  from  his  slumber  by  the  stealthy  splash  of  the  oars 
below.  Not  a  footstep  nor  a  breath  in  the  dark  solitude. 
The  muffled  figure  drops  the  oars,  and  pauses,  as  though  in 
doubt. 

"  Yes,"  he  mutters,  "  half  a  dozen  of  them  looked  after  me, 
as  I  came  down  the  street  from  the  hotel.  If  I'm  seen  over 
there,  I'd  be  safer  in  t'other  rig ;  believe  I'll  change  now." 

He  proceeds  to  remove  his  clothes,  substituting  in  their 
place  a  sailor's  jacket  and  pants,  and  a  red  flannel  shirt. 
Then  he  places  a  bushy  wig  on  his  head,  and  completes  his 
attire  by  tipping  a  tarpaulin  hat  over  the  false  luxuriance  of 
locks  below.  Tying  up  the  clothes  he  has  removed  in  a  tight 
bundle,  and  attaching  a  heavy  stone,  he  rows  a  little  way 
from  land,  and  drops  them  in  the  river.  "  Satisfactory  that," 

he  murmurs  again,  "  gone  to  the ,  I've  no  doubt,  where 

they  belong.  Think  Bill  wouldn't  knoij  me  himself  with 
these  fixin's." 

Steady  with  desperate  energy  is  the  hand  that  plies  the  oar. 
Calm,  unflinching  is  the  heart  to  whose  beat  that  even  plash 
answers  momently,  as  the  boat  sweeps  along  the  waves.  The 
holy  stars  looking  down  upoji  the  stream,  see  only  a  frail 


KATE    WESTON.  447 

bark,  moving  onward,  with  a  dark  figure  sitting  upright  in  the 
centre,  guiding  himself  through  the  dangerous  rapids  with  a 
firm,  true  hand.  The  angels,  looking  down  into  the  heart, 
see  there  the  fierce  storm  of  unbridled  passion,  hatred,  jealousy, 
murder,  nerving  the  strong  arm  and  steady  hand  to  secret 
deeds  of  horror. 

He  is  more  than  half  across.  The  stars  shine  on.  The 
cataract  rolls  on.  The  banks  lie  still  and  dark.  Earth,  sea, 
nor  sky,  cry  out  against  his  progress.  But,  there  is  a  GOD  in 
HEAVEN. 

Softly,  so  softly  that  he  scarcely  hears  the  sound,  his  boat 
scrapes  over  some  sharp  substance  beneath  the  surface.  It 
veers  over  to  one  side.  He  tries  to  push  it  off,  but  it  is 
caught  firmly  upon  the  snag.  He  fixes  his  oar  into  the 
hooked  branches  beneath  him,  and  pushes  hard  to  free  him- 
self. He  takes  both  oars.  In  vain.  He  tries  the  other  side. 
At  length,  with  an  impatient  jerk,  he  braces  himself  in  the 
stern,  and  with  one  violent  thrust  sends  the  boat  suddenly 
adrift.  He  falls  backward ;  the  boat  rocks  with  his  motion. 
But  he  starts  up,  and  resumes  his  place  at  the  centre  with  an 
oath  upon  his  lips. 

Hush — there  is  a  bubbling  sound  under  his  feet.  The 
water  is  rising  about  him.  He  stoops  over,  and  puts  his  hand 
into  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  A  plank  is  loose.  In  three 
minutes,  there  is  a  sudden  plunge,  a  closing  together  of  the 
waters,  and  a  human  being  is  struggling  for  life.  He  swims 
towards  the  shore.  Dashing  away  the  waves,  his  sinewy 
figure  battles  mightily  to  achieve  an  impossible  labor.  Long 
before  he  reaches  the  shore,  his  strength  fails.  He  fixes  a 
firm  grasp  upon  the  oar  which  he  has  been  pushing  before 
him,  and  floats  helplessly  down  the  stream.  The  stars  are 
twinkling  still,  the  roar  of  mighty  waters  rises  still  to  his  ear, 
but  a  mightier  voice,  at  last,  is  swelling  above  the  neariug 
cataract. 

At  last !  The  long  years  of  that  hard,  desperate  life  record 
no  qualm  of  fear,  no  quivering  of  energy  before  the  bloodiest 
purpose.  They  are  floating  before  his  mental  vision  now — a 
youth  of  reckless  adventure,  a  manhood  of  fierce,  unrepented 
crime.  The  waves  gurgling  about  his  ears  seem  fraught 
with  life.  Eyes,  wild  and  despairing — lurid  with  revenge — 
triumphant  in  demoniac  scorn, — look  into  his  from  the  plash- 
ing waters.  Whispers,  distinct  and  terrible,  rise  above  their 
murmur.  Death,  in  whose  very  teeth  he  has  flung  taunts  of 


448  KATE    WESTOX. 

defiance  a  hundred  times  before,  is  smiling  ghastly  upon  him 
now.  Eternity,  like  a  vast,  vague  mist,  spreads  about  him, 
peopled  with  figures  and  faces  from  which  his  sick  soul  shud- 
ders. The  demons  that  have  played  in  fiery  wreaths  about 
the  dying  victims  of  his  lust  of  gain,  seem  tearing  at  his 
heart.  They  compass  him  with  chains ;  they  draw  him  down 
beneath  the  waters.  They  laugh  hideously  in  his  ears.  They 
swarm  upon  his  face,  crowding  the  warm  life-breath  back 
upon  his  heart. 

Hush !  There  is  a  pause  in  his  headlong  descent.  Some- 
thing resists  his  advance.  Unconsciously  his  hand  clutches 
at  a  support.  The  touch  calls  him  back  to  life.  A  lew  quick 
grasps,  and  his  head  is  above  water.  For  a  few  moments  he 
clings  fast,  and  strives  to  remember  where  he  is.  Then,  with 
a  few  more  efforts  he  is  seated  upon  the  crotch  of  a  huge 
snag  jutting  from  the  water.  With  returning  consciousness, 
hope  steals  back.  He  peers  out  towards  the  land.  The  banks 
lie  still  and  dark  against  the  sky.  The  stars  shine  on.  But 
the  waters  at  his  feet  whirl  wildly  by.  A  sound  as  of  many 
thunders,  roars  up  the  river,  and  he  almost  fancies  that  his  rest- 
ing-place is  floating  onward  to  the  brink  of  the  falls  below. 

In  an  hour  the  moon  rises.  He  sees  distinctly  now  the 
island  cutting  apart  the  long  white  line  below ; — the  trees, 
standing  so  motionless  upon  the  banks.  The  white  cottage, 
far  above  him,  to  which  he  had  bent  his  course.  He  looks 
down.  His  weight  is  too  much  for  his  frail  support.  The 
•water  is  nearing  him.  A  chill  creeps  to  his  heart.  He  looks 
again  towards  the  shore.  Is  there  no  help — no  refuge.  He 
shouts  aloud.  No  answer.  He  sends  forth  shriek  after 
shriek — the  roar  of  the  cataract  booming  through  the  night 
is  his  only  answer.  The  snag  is  lowering  slowly — surely  ;  the 
tide  is  bubbling  about  his  feet. 

The  stars  are  fading,  but  the  moon  is  marching  up.  The 
banks  are  bathed  in  light.  But  human  ears  hear  not  the 
echo  of  despair  leaping  among  their  rocks,  nor  see  the  lonely 
figure  clinging  desperately  to  life,  while  a  death  of  horror 
seems  rising  up  around  him. 

The  sun  is  coming  up  over  the  Niagara  river.  Its  banks 
teem  with  human  life.  Men  hurry  to  and  fro  with  wild, 
strange  looks  upon  their  faces.  Women  cry  aloud,  and 
children  strain  their  eyes  out  upon  the  waves  in  wondering 
terror.  A  fellow  being  clings  to  a  short,  thick  snag  shooting 
above  the  water.  When  the  first  man  came  to  the  river's 


KATE   WESTON.  449 

brink  at  dawn,  his  cries  poured  clear  and  shrill  to  shore. 
Now  they  hear  but  a  faint  wail,  as  though  the  conflict  were 
almost  ended. 

They  have  thrown  ropes  towards  him.  They  have  sent 
out  boat  after  boat  with  cords  attached  to  the  shore,  hoping 
that  they  might  float  near  him.  In  vain.  The  rapids  whirl 
one  bark  within  a  few  yards,  but  it  passes  on  to  the  Falls 
below.  Hours  pass  by,  and  he  clings  with  frantic  death-grasp 
to  the  hope  of  life,  growing  frailer  with  each  rushing  wave. 

How  the  spray  sparkles  Jn  the  sunlight,  flashing  along 
like  a  sea  of  liquid  diamonds.  How  the  solemn  voice  of  the 
cataract  calls  up  to  its  certain  victim  from  the  vast  abyss 
below.  How  the  sea  of  human  life  swells  upon  the  banks, 
as  the  day  goes  by,  and  no. rescue  reaches  the  man  whose 
power  of  endurance  seems  a  miracle  to  the  anxious  watchers. 
The  excitement  increases  at  each  repeated  failure  of  their 
efforts  for  his  salvation.  His  cries  have  ceased  altogether 
now,  but  his  hand  seems  a  part  of  the  blackened  snag,  so 
convulsive  is  his  tightening  hold. 

At  length,  just  before  noon,  two  young  men  come  hastily 
towards  the  crowd.  A  few  words  pass  between  them  and 
the  immediate  bystanders.  The  elder  of  the  two  pauses  a 
moment  thoughtfully,  and  leaps  into  a  boat  to  which  some 
men  are  tying  a  stout  rope.  Several  voices  murmur  about 
him.  "  You  shall  not  go  ;  it  would  be  certain  death,"  "  One 
victim  is  enough."  "The  water  is  full  of  snags."  "Those 
ropes  would  break  like  rotten  cords."  His  companion  lays 
his  hand  persuasively  upon  his  arm,  and  addresses  him  in  a  few 
low,  earnest  words.  Those  standing  nearest  hear  his  answer. 

"  To  you,  to  you " — pointing  back  to  a  graceful  female 
figure  coming  down  the  bank,  "  but  not  to  me."  He  shakes 
his  head  half  mournfully  as  he.  hurriedly  ties  a  rope  about  his 
waist.  Two  or  three  outstretched  hands  would  deter  him. 
He  puts  them  back  with  a  gentle  firmness,  fastens  about  his 
waist  a  life-preserver  some  one  has  thrown  him,  and  seizes 
the  oars.  Several  stout  arms  are  holding  the  rope  which  is  to 
steady  his  boat,  others,  that  which  ]$  fastened  about  his  body. 

The  female  figure  has  reached  the  bank.  Her  face  grows 
pale  as  she  sees  him,  and  she  cries  out,  "  Oh,  come  back,  you 
will  surely  perish."  The  light  in  his  eye,  and  the  high  glory 
on  his  brow,  as  he  looks  towards  her,  make  the  men  who 
still  strive  to  hinder  him  recede  as  he  pushes  from  the  shore. 
"  Maggie,  there  is  a  GOD  IN  HEAVEN." 


450  KATE    WESTON. 

As  he  rows  rapidly  out  into  the  torrent,  and  the  assembled 
multitude  catch  an  .idea  of  his  purpose,  a  simultaneous  shout 
goes  up,  that  infuses  strength  into  the  heart  of  the  man  grasp- 
ing now  almost  unconsciously  the  only  link  between  himself 
and  life.  Rolling,  whirling  in  the  rapids,  the  little  boat,  with 
its  gallant  oarsjpan  nears  him.  Now  half  buried  in  the 
eddying  waves,  now  leaping  upwards  like  a  bird,  it  pushes  on 
to  its  destination.  It  is  within  a  few  yards.  The  pulse  of 
teeming  life  upon,  the  shore,  stands  for  a  moment  still.  A 
few  more  strokes,  and  it  will  have  reached  him. 

All  consciousness  seems  to  have  worn  away,  in  that  weary, 
desperate  struggle  for  life,  for  the  man  does  not  notice  the 
approach  of  the  boat  that  at  length  may  end  his  labors. 
Only  that  instinctive  clasp  gives  evidence  of  life.  The  young 
man  shouts  aloud.  With  a  convulsive  effort,  the  figure  rising 
and  falling  with  the  motion  of  the  waves,  turns  over.  The 
youth  in  the  boat  starts  with  a  quick  scream.  The  man  in  the 
water  fixes  his  glaring  eyes  upon  him.  For  the  first  time  the 
motion  of  the  oars  is  a  little  unsteady.  But  the  young,  strong 
arm  commands  itself,  and  pulls  once,  twice,  vigorously 
towards  him.  He  can  almost  reach  him  now.  He  drops  one 
oar  into  the  boat,  uses  one,  and  bends  eagerly  forward  to  seize 
kjs  prize.  One  stroke  and  he  can  touch  him. 

Hark !  a  gurgle  from  the  livid  mouth — a  contortion  of  the 
face — a  convulsion  of  the  figure — the  hand  loosens  its  hold, 
and  a  whirling  wave  carries  him  within  half  a  yard  of  the  out- 
stretched hand  that  strives  to  rescue. 

One  groan  from  the  banks  swells  above  the  roar  of  waters. 
The  young  man,  heedless  of  his  own  peril,  gazes  motionless  as 
though  turned  to  stone,  upon  the  body  shooting  along  the 
swift  waters.  Down,  down,  almost  to  the  brink — lost  for  a 
moment — leaping  up  at  the  very  edge,  and  whirled  over  into 
the  soundless  depths  below. — 

*  *  *  *  *        j-  * 

It  was  many  months  after,  when  house-cleaning  time  came 
round,  and  all  the  old  pile  of  lumber  was  removed,  that  Wil- 
liam and  Maggie  discovered  the  mine  of  ruin  that  had  so 
nearly  sprung  beneath  them. 

Standing  then  in  the  light  of  the  little  window,  looking  up 
with  pale  face  from  the  uncovered  kegs  and  well-laid  train,  to 
the  paler  face  of  his  young  wife,  William  murmured,  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  "  Maggie,  there  is  a  GOD  in  HEAVEN." 


Down,  down,  almost  to  the  brink— lost  for  a  moment— leaping  up  at  the  very  edge. 
:uid  whirled  over  into  the  soundless  depths  below.  P.  450. 


KATE   WESTON.  451 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  very  day  in  which  that  fierce, 
remorseless  soul  went  to  stand  before  the  tribunal  of  an  angry- 
God,  Alice  Byng  was  startled,  on  descending  from  her  room, 
by  an  exclamation  of  terror  from  the  girl  who  had  just 
opened  the  front  door. 

"  Oh,  Missus,  see  here !"  she  cried,  retreating  to  the  hall. 
Alice  stepped  forward.  The  tall,  thin  figure  of  a  woman 
was  drawn  up  in  an  abject,  cringing  posture  on  the  broad 
stone  at  the  top,  with  her  face  turned  down  upon  the  step, 
against  the  door-sill.  She  spoke  to  her.  No  answer.  She 
came  closer,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  head.  No  motion. 
The  bony  hand  was  closed  tightly  about  a  roll  of  papers. 

Alice  stooped  over,  and  touched  the  hand.  She  started 
back,  stood  still  a  moment,  and  returned  to  summon  her  hus- 
band. He  came  down,  took  the  hand  in  his,  tried  to  raise 
the  head. 

"  It  is  no  use,  Alice,"  he  said,  softly,  "  she  is  gone.  Her 
head  is  heavy  as  lead.  Wait,  let  me  turn  her  over."  He 
stooped,  turned  the  body  carefully  over,  and  looked  into  a 
face  whose  last  expression  Avas  one  of  bitter,  despairing 
penitence.  His  own  turned  pale  as  death.  He  placed  his 
hand  as  if  for  support,  high  against  the  door-casing,  leaned 
his  head  upon  it,  and  gave  way  to  an  uncontrollable  burst  of 
tears. 

His  wife  came  forward  in  alarm.  Strange  to  see  that  grave 
face  so  convulsed  with  emotion,  to  hear  great  sobs  burst  up 
from  the  broad,  strong  breast.  He  bowed  his  head  upon  her 
shoulder,  "  My  sister  Alice,"  was  all  that  he  could  whisper, 
and  her  tears  mingled  with  his  own. 

Presently  he  crowded  back  the  sorrow,  lifted  the  gaunt 
figure  in  his  arms,  carried  it  in,  and  laid  it  tenderly  on  the 
parlor-sofa. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  quiet  funeral  there.  The  coffin 
was  closed,  and  a  plain  silver  plate  bore  the  inscription : — 


452  KATE    WESTON. 

MARY    BYNQ    MORRIS, 

BORN 
JULY  15TH,  181-, 

DIED 
OCTOBER  STH,  185-. 

When  Edward  Clarence  returned  to  New  York,  he  was 
accompanied  by  William  Benson,  who  brought  his  wife  to 
weep  at  the  grave  of  her  mother,  and  win  a  place  in  the 
affection  of  her  new  relatives.  The  cordiality  of  their  wel- 
come was  only  equalled  by  their  gratitude  to  God,  and  the 
generous  hearts  he  had  employed  to  rescue  the  child  from 
sharing  the  fearful  destiny  of  her  dead  mother. 

The  discovery  of  the  powder,  and  the  almost  certainty  of 
Gamp's  terrible  intentions,  were  never  revealed,  except  to 
Edward  and  his  family.  All  necessary  steps  were  taken, 
however,  to  prove  that  William  Benson  had  been  defrauded 
by  him  of  his  father's  property.  With  the  aid  of  the  man 
Shroeck,  and  all  the  valuable  papers  in  William's  possession, 
they  had  little  difficulty  in  identifying  his  claim,  and,  after 
many  years  had  elapsed,  during  which  Gamp  had  retained 
the  money,  the  jury  awarded  to  him  the  whole  of  his  claim, 
with  the  accumulated  interest. 

Having  then  means  and  leisure  to  pursue  his  favorite 
study,  rather  as  a  science  than  a  mechanical  trade,  he  resolved 
at  once  to  make  himself  master  of  its  highest  principles. 
Although  Father  Benson's  three  years  have  not  yet  elapsed, 
his  prophecy  that  his  boy  would  "  make  one  of  the  first  engi- 
neers in  this  country,"  is  in  a  fair  way  for  fulfillment.  By  the 
power  of  energy  and  perseverance,  the  young  man  has  already 
conquered  difficulties  that  for  years  have  baffled  the  skill  of 
older  minds. 

But  not  in  these  matters  alone  does  William  Benson  shine 
pre-eminent.  Both  himself  and  his  young  wife  have  suffered  ; 
— have  tasted  life's  bitter  waters,  and  in  the  precious  Bible 
have  found  the  antidote  to  their  bitterness.  Wherever  a  soul 
is  struggling  in  the  darkness  of  unbelief,  wherever  a  frail 
form  is  sinking  beneath  poverty  or  shame — wherever  a  weak 
spirit  flutters  in  the  baneful  influence  of  a  bad  man's  will, 
their  hearts  and  hands  are  ready  with  sympathy  or  more  sub- 
stantial aid,  to  feel  and  do  for  others  what  others  have  felt 
and  done  for  them. 


KATE    WESTON.  458 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

KATE  WESTON  was  sitting  at  her  bedroom  window.  The 
changeable  foliage  of  Autumn  lay  spread  away  before  her, 
down  a  long  slope  to  the  valley  where  the  pretty  village 
nestled  amid  hues  of  gold,  scarlet,  green  and  brown. 

The  season  had  been  one  of  prosperous  and  abundant 
growth,  and  the  sun,  on  that  Indian  Summer  afternoon, 
looked  down  upon  an  unusual  we'alth  of  that  gorgeous 
season  of  the  year. 

Kate's  cheek  had  been  bright  all  day,  and  her  voice  trem- 
ulous with  a  strange  music.  Her  light  foot  bounded  through 
the  house  with  a  nervous  energy  totally  foreign  to  her  gentle 
nature.  But  now  her  eye  was  kindling  with  a  deeper  light, 
and  the  white  roses  in  her  hair  trembled  as  though  shaken 
by  the  wind.  A  snowy  muslin  robe,  fastened  at  the  throat 
with  a  single  ruby  that  Edward.^id  given  her  years  before, 
two  or  three  rose  buds  in  the  bodice,  and  a  wreath  twined 
in  her  back  hair,  completed  her  attire.  Not  in  "  broidered 
hair,  nor  pearls,  nor  costly  array,"  lay  the  charm  of  her 
adorning.  The  roses  were  white,  with  a  delicate  straw- 
colored  centre ;  she  had  gathered  them  that  afternoon  from 
her  favorite  bush,  the  same  whose  single  bud,  a  year  before, 
Edward  had  unconsciously  broken. 

Every  few  minutes  her  head  turned  nervously  to  the  road 
leading  from  Mr.  Jeremiah's  dwelling.  Presently  three  figures, 
dim  in  the  distance,  came  down  towards  her.  One  very  tall 
and  stout,  one  very  short  and  puffy,  another,  a  little  shorter 
than  the  first,  but  straight  and  elastic  as  an  arrow.  Kate 
drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  muslin  curtain  ;  a  moment 
after  she  heard  Rosy  calling  up  to  her,  "  Missey  Katy !"  She 
looked  out.  "  Dey's  jest  a  comin'  down  de  road.  'Pears 
Mas'r  Edward  walks  mighty  peart  now ;  walks  as  straight 
now ;  guess  dat  renimical  tumble  into  de  Niagary  Falls 
didn't  hurt  him  much,  anyhow,  ef  it  did  break  his  boat  to 
pieces.  Lawsakes,  he's  pearter'n  he  ever  was,  do  look,  Missey 
Kate."  Rosy  put  up  both  great  black  hands  to  readjust  her 


454  KATE    WESTON. 

yellow  turban,  and  fold  the  three-cornered  shawl  becomingly 
across  her  broad  bosom,  'as  Kate  drew  again  into  the  shelter 
of  the  curtain. 

What  a  wild  gush  of  music  that  young  heart  was  pouring 
out,  discordant,  but  melodious  to  the  listening  angels  as  the 
harmony  of  their  native  heaven  ;  like  those  matchless  minor 
discords  that  entrance  the  master-spirits  of  music  in  our 
fallen  world.  One  solemn  peal  of  triumph,  strong  as  a 
trumpet-tone,  at  the  rescue  of  an  immortal  soul  precious  as 
her  own,  mingling  with  the  notes  of  woman's  perfect  love, 
and*  all  subdued  by  a  soft  undertone  of  fear. 

Did  he  love  her  still  ?  Would  he  think  it  delicate  in  her 
summoning  him  to  her,  without  the  slightest  intimation  of  his 
desire  to  come  ?  Would  honor  prompt  him,  if  affection  had 
grown  cold?  Kate — Kate — unworthy  of  you.  He  had 
resolved  to  lose  you,  but  he  had  no  such  fears. 

She  sat  quite  still,  trying  to  calm  her  feelings.  She  could 
generally  control  them — what  was  the  matter  now  ?  The 
greater  the  effort,  the  faster  rang  the  mystic  peal  of  that 
throbbing  soul.  They  were  coming  nearer ;  she  did  not  'see 
them,  but  she  could  almost  count  their  steps  by  the  motion 
of  her  beating  fancy.  She  could  hear  her  mother's  even  step 
in  the  parlor  where  she  waited  them  below,  and  Rosy's  voice 
muttering  away  in  exuberant  delight  beneath  the  window. 

"  Gwine  to  come  roun'  right  at  last,,  arter  all ;"  murmured 
the  ebony  lady,  in  a  half-indignant  tone.  "  Lawsakes,  didn't 
I  know  de  good  Lord'd  bring  him  round.  'Pears  Missey  Kate 
don't  care  nuffin  for  that  yer  fix  Mas'r  Edward  got  into, 
nohow.  No  more  she  otight.  Don't  dem  renimical  rum- 
sellers  deduce  everybody 'd  like  to  know.  Nebber  see'd 
nuffin  like  'em.  But  dere's  a  good  time  a  comin' ;  dat  com- 
forts Rosy.  Dis  yer  gran'  law's  jest  a  gwine  to  comboberlate 
de  whole  lot  ob  'em  into  buttermilk.  'Pears  now,  I  sees  it 
a  risin'  up,  like  de  cloud,  no  bigger  dan  de  man's  hand, 
a  spreadin'  and  a  spreadin',  till  it  trabbles  all  ober  de  sky,  an' 
rains  down  happiness  all  ober  de  world.  De  Lord  can  do  it 
all,  an'  ole  Rosy's  gwine  to  live  till  Joe  gits  dare  out  de  snare 
ob  de  fowler.  Lawsakes,  they's  a'most  here  aready." 

Kate's  quickened  ear  caught  the  distant  sound  of  footsteps, 
but  she  sat  quite  still,  pressing  her  hand  upon  her  heart  (as 
though  she  could  hush  its  unwonted  riot.)  Nearer — nearer 
came  the  feet — she  could  hear  voices  now — there,  it  was  his 
voice !  — she  started  up  like  a  frightened  fawn,  flew  down 


KATE   WESTON.  455 

stairs,  and  away  out  into  her  bower,  before  Rosy's  span-new 
turban  had  finished  fluttering  its  welcome  at  the  front  gate. 

It  was  full  fifteen  minutes  after  they  had  entered  that  Mrs. 
Weston,  with  one  of  her  own  gentle  smiles,  came  back  from 
a  second  unsuccessful  search  for  the  missing  fairy.  "  Prithee, 
my  son,"  she  said,  in  the  yearning  tone  of  years  gone  by,  "  go 
and  find  her  for  us.  She  has  vanished,  but  I  think  thee  can 
find  her.  I  left  her  in  her  room  but  a  little  while  before  you 
came.  Thou  knowest  some  of  her  hiding-places,  and  I  shall 
have  to  send  thee  for  her." 

Edward  rose  with  a  slight  embarrassment  of  manner,  and 
walked  away  without  speaking.  Mrs.  Weston  returned  to 
her  seat  at  the  back  window  of  the  sitting-room,  and  a 
moment  after  they  saw  Edward's  lithe  figure  descending  the 
slope  that  led  to  the  tiny  waterfall,  whereupon  Mr.  Jeremiah's 
great  red  handkerchief  acquitted  itself  honorably  of  a  tri- 
umphant flourish ;  Mrs.  Weston's  mild  eyes  looked  com- 
placently over  her  spectacles  at  the  retreating  figure,  as  she 
made  some  trivial  remark  upon  the  favorable  season ;  Mr. 
Pufton  threw  his  little  round  head  back,  rubbed  his  hands  in 
a  perfect  ecstasy  and  shot  oft'  half-a-dozen  answers.  "  Think 
so  myself,  ma'am  —  quite  favorable,  ma'am — uncommonly 
favorable,  ma'am — highly  delightful,  ma'am — perfectly  satis- 
factory in  all  respects,  ma'am."  It  didn't  seem  to  strike  Mrs. 
Weston  that  he  was  at  all  extravagant  on  such  a  common- 
place subject,  for  she  looked  as  much  delighted  as  himself, 
with  those  large  blue  eyes,  that  years  and  sorrow  had  no 
power  to  dim,  fixed  upon  the  narrow  path  that  led  to  her 
daughter's  sanctum. 

Edward's  glance,  as  he  passed  along,  was  arrested  by  the 
hallowed  linden-tree,  heaped  with  the  foliage  that  rustled  in 
the  sunlight.  A  flash  of  something  that  he  thought  darkened 
long  ago,  beamed  out  upon  the  mirage  that,  in  absence,  he 
had  mistaken  for  reality,  and  a  mist  was  dimming  its  clear 
outlines.  He  walked  on.  Somehow  the  calmness  he  had 
labored  for,  until  he  thought  that  he  was  perfect  master  of 
his  feelings,  was  ebbing  away.  Strangely  enough,  he  began 
to  linger,  and  wonder  what  he  should  say,  and  how  he  should 
meet  her.  He  had  resolved  to  ask  her  friendship  still,  but  in 
what  words  should  he  couch  his  request.  Presently  he 
stopped  short  for  a  minute,  then,  as  though  ashamed  at  his 
own  emotion,  hurried  on  again. 

A  few  more  steps,  and  he  came  to  the  rose-bush,  with  its 


456  KATE    WESTON. 

wealth  of  flowers  and  bursting  buds.  Another  flash  of  that 
strange  light ;  the  mirage  was  growing  fainter.  The  bright 
water  rippled  along  by  the  narrow  opening  down  which  he 
was  passing.  His  foot  rustled  among  the  falling  leaves,  so 
that  the  fairy  figure  upon  which  his  eye  rested,  as  he  turned 
the  great  tree  at  the  end  of  the  path,  must  have  been  con- 
scious of  his  approach.  But  she  did  not  stir.  She  was  stand- 
ing with  one  arm  clasped  about  a  sapling,  bending  over,  with 
averted  face,  and  looking  down  into  the  water. 

Her  bright  hair  looked  golden  in  the  sunshine,  and  the 
half-blown  roses  were  trembling,  trembling,  more  than  that 
light  breath  of  wind  could  shake  them.  Except  for  that,  and 
the  flutter  of  the  white  robe,  the  contour  of  that  matchless 
figure  might  have  seemed  the  work  of  some  master-sculptor, 
so  steady  was  the  quiet  with  which  it  clung  to  the  slight  sap- 
ling beside  her.  Edward  advanced  to  within  a  few  feet  of 
her.  His  heart  was  throbbing,  his  strong  will  flickering ;  the 
mirage  had  almost  vanished.  He  stepped  a  pace  nearer — she' 
did  not  move,  but  the  largest  rose  in  her  hair  quivered  more 
than  ever.  For  a  minute  he  stood  still,  then — "  Oh,  Edward, 
what  were  you  doing?"  With  an  involuntary  motion  he 
stepped  forward,  and  bent  his  head  above  her  shoulder,  until 
both  faces  were  reflected  in  the  water. 

She  started,  let  go  the  sapling,  and  turned  towards  him. 
There  was  something  in  the  soul-light  of  those  eyes,  that 
scattered  the  mirage,  and  poured  back  in  its  full  power  the 
resistless  love  he  had  fancied  conquered.  How  radiant  was 
that  pure  face,  glowing  with  the  inner  beauty  that  outvied  the 
sunlight.  ' 

The  next  moment  resolves  and  fears  were  all  forgotten 
His  young,  strong  arm  was  about  her,  her  face  was  hidden  in 
his  bosom.  The  angels  listened  to  the  added  melody  of  ano- 
ther heart,  and  the  full,  rich  tones  rising  in  one  triumph- 
strain  of  love  and  gratitude,  pealed  now,  at  last,  in  perfect 
unison. 

Together — in  the  Ark. 


THE     END. 


uc  SOUTHERN  oc 

A     000047927      " 


|c 


